


The Lucky Ones

by Winnywriter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Drug Use, Hitchhiking, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Past Drug Addiction, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:05:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1491028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnywriter/pseuds/Winnywriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is running away. Running from his past, from his future, from everything that seems to be going wrong in his life. It seems like all he has to look forward to are long stretches of road and desert in front of him. That is until a stranger in a beat up old pickup truck stops on the side of the road and asks him if he needs a ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 2014 Gabriel Big Bang fic! 
> 
> Inspired by [this lovely AU idea](http://foreordain.tumblr.com/post/65573284424/sam-gabriel-hitchhiker-au-whats-your-name) by the lovely foreordain. 
> 
> Beta'd by ewbiemoons.
> 
> Art by the INCREDIBLE quercusrubra!! :D Right over [here!](http://quercusrubra.tumblr.com/post/83225033116)
> 
> [Listen](http://8tracks.com/hunting-bees/the-lucky-ones) to a fantastic soundtrack for this fic made by [hunting-bees](http://hunting-bees.tumblr.com/)!

The road stretched in front of him for miles.

Sam wiped his brow and tugged on the sleeves of his jacket, pulling it tighter around his waist. His T-shirt was soaked through by now, he was sure. The water from his bottle was warm, but he gulped it down anyway.

Fear rose up like bile in his throat. According to his map, the next town wasn't too far, but he had yet to see more than a billboard in hours. Heat radiated off the asphalt, distorting the desert horizon before him.

It stretched on for _miles,_  hot and dry and looming.

The rumble of a motor coming up behind him made him forget just how damn  _hot_  he was for a moment, and he stuck his thumb out. When the truck lumbered on by him without even slowing, he breathed a soft curse.

He took another swig from his water bottle and let his hand fall to the side. His stomach let out an indignant gurgle. "Shut up," Sam muttered. He was out of protein bars and on his last bottle of water. He probably had enough money in his pocket for a cheap sandwich, and refilling at the tap would cost him nothing. If the next desert town he came to had an ATM, he might treat himself to a burger and a Powerade.

His mouth would have watered if it had had any to spare.

The sun meandered across the sky, and Sam cursed it with every step. The town had to be close...But what if it wasn't? He shook his head, a fringe of damp brown hair brushing his temple as he did. He couldn't afford to think like that.

His hand brushed against his pocket where he'd always used to carry his phone, but of course it was empty. It wasn't a surprise; he'd left his battered phone back in Lawrence. Still, the fear that had settled in his gut started to push the hunger and thirst down and away. No phone, no food, and not much water...How long could a person last without water? A few days if they were lucky, but out here, sweating like he was...

He stopped, suddenly out of breath as if he'd just broken into a run. He bent over, hands on his knees. "Get ahold of yourself, Sam...Nobody's dying out here. Just a few more miles. Not much farther. A few more miles…"

The scrape of tires slowing to a halt on the road beside him made him look up.

"You alright there, kiddo?"

Sam blinked at the man leaning over from the driver's side of the beat up old gold Chevy pick-up. At least, maybe it had been gold once. It was a scuffed and dented old thing that looked like its original color had been dulled and lost under layers of cheap repainting jobs; the hood was a different color altogether, a dirty silver-gray replacement part so old-looking that Sam wondered if it outdated the car itself.

"Hey," the man behind the wheel barked, arching one eyebrow at him and tilting his head. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed.

The amber-haired guy inside chewed on what looked like a lollipop stick. "You got a name?" he asked.

Sam saw no reason to lie, so he told him, "Sam."

"Need a ride, Sam?"

The question might as well have come with a chorus of singing angels. For all the good it did him, he at least tried not to look too desperate. "Yeah."

The guy leaned over and opened the passenger side door. The sound the old hinges made when he did grated on his ears. "Either throw your stuff in back or dump it at your feet. If you're gonna knife me, I'd at least like fair warning."

His backpack wasn't large, so it wasn't hard to drop it in front of him and keep it pinned between his shoes as he climbed in. He almost fainted from joy right there on the spot. Oh, thank God. _Air conditioning._

* * *

Against all his better judgment, Gabriel had picked up a hitchhiker. A young one at that: no older than twenty, probably closer to eighteen. All he had on him was his backpack, a tattered old thing, but not held together with duct tape at least.

Still, he was well-fed and healthy-looking. Possibly homeless, but more likely a runaway. Gabriel was familiar enough with those to know one when he saw him. "Where you headed?" he asked, and Sam shrugged.

"Dunno."

"What a coincidence. I'm headed that way too." Gabriel turned up the A/C, and Sam closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest. Poor kid looked exhausted. "How long you been hoofing it?"

Another shrug. "Since early. Got kicked off a Greyhound back at the last rest stop when they realized I didn't have a ticket."

Gabriel pulled the lollipop stick from his mouth before the paper had a chance to unravel into mush against his tongue. "Last rest stop was fifteen miles back."

He couldn't tell if Sam seemed relieved or disappointed. "Seemed like more."

They drove three miles in silence.

"What's your name?" Sam finally asked.

"Gabriel. They call me Gabriel."

"Gabriel," Sam repeated. "Like the angel."

"Yup," Gabriel said, with a little extra pop on the P.

They went two more miles without a word.

"Thanks for stopping," Sam said.

"Don't thank me yet. You still don't know if I'm gonna leave your body in a ditch somewhere."

"You planning on it?" Sam didn't seem worried.

"No," Gabriel told him, casting a side-glance his way. "But someone else might've."

Sam chuckled and half-rolled his eyes. "Gonna give me a lecture on the dangers of hitchhiking?"

"I'll let your mom do that for you."

"Mom's dead," Sam said to the window.

Shit.

"Dad?"

Sam's reflection frowned. "Dad's dead too."

Fuck.

For five more miles, neither of them said a thing. Sam watched the road pass them by, and Gabriel stewed. As they passed a dilapidated billboard for Kripke's Pizzeria, Sam started fiddling with the knobs on the dash. "Your radio busted?"

" _Nah_ , I just like listening to the sound of wind when I drive across the desert."

At the very least, the kid was quick to pick up on sarcasm. Gabriel nodded at the glove box. "There's some cassettes in there if you want to pick one." Sam popped it open and started rummaging, but instead of a tape, he pulled out a Milky Way bar. He stared at it for a moment, licked his chapped lips and quickly put it back.

Gabriel swore he heard Sam's stomach gurgle. "You can have it, if you want."

"What?"

"The chocolate bar. Take it."

"It's fine," Sam insisted, but it was as insincere as Gabriel had ever heard.

"Oh, just eat the damn candy, for Christ's sake."

Sam hesitated, only for a moment, then took it from the glove box. He peeled back the wrapper almost reverently and downed half of the bar in one bite. "Easy there, bucko," Gabriel chuckled as Sam wolfed down the rest of it. "I don't need you barfing on my dashboard."

Sam wiped his mouth. "Thanks," he said.

"I'll stop at the next town, grab a bite. I could go for something substantial."

"How far's the next town?" Sam asked.

"Logan's about twenty more miles or so." When Gabriel looked over at him, he swore Sam looked almost pale. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I just..." He stared down at the wrapper in his hands. "I don't think I would have made it on my own if you hadn't picked me up."

Gabriel let out a clipped half-laugh. "Don't go acting like I saved your life, kiddo. Just saved you one hell of a shitty walk." Sam didn't reply, so Gabriel glued his eyes back to the road. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

Bullshit.

"How old are you, really?"

Sam looked at him. "Twenty-one," he said again.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. You're twenty-one. Fine."

"You don't believe me."

"Doesn't matter. Would I sell you booze? Probably not. But I'm not a bartender, so it doesn't make any difference."

"What about you?"

Gabriel had to admit that he wasn't expecting that. "How old am I?"

"Yeah."

"Oh...a gentleman never tells."

"Oh come on. You're no more than thirty."

" _Thirty?_ " Gabriel snapped at him. "I'm twenty-seven for your information. Thirty years old...I should kick you out right here."

"I said _no more_  than thirty. So I was right."

In spite of himself, he found himself grinning. "Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?"

Sam just shrugged.

"So what are you running from?" Gabriel asked him.

"What makes you think I'm running?"

Gabriel nodded at the bag by Sam's feet. "Walking down a desert road alone with nothing but an old backpack. Either running from something or trying to find yourself. And people only try to find themselves when they're running from everything. So what is it, Sam? Something or everything?"

"Nothing," Sam told him.

"People don't run from nothing."

"I'm not running."

"Then why are you in the desert?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Sam snarked.

"I'm on a road trip."

"Without knowing your destination?"

Gabriel smirked at him. "Best kind."

"You don't like it when people ask you what you're running from, do you?" Sam asked, and Gabriel tightened his grip on the steering wheel and kept his gaze forward. Sam huffed. "Then don't ask me."

This kid had a shell three feet thick, at least.

"Fine" was all Gabriel said. "Tell me where you're from, huh?"

"Why do you wanna know?"

"I wanna know how far you've gone. Just give me a state."

After a long silence, Sam said, "Kansas."

"How far you wanna get from there?"

Another shrug. "I'll see where I end up."

Gabriel nodded. "New Mexico isn't a bad start. Just make sure you don't run too far, kiddo. Might wind up forgetting how to get back."

Sam didn't say anything more. Seemed that shell of his was closing up. It was probably for the best; he'd likely make himself scarce after he'd had the chance to stock up on supplies and find another ride. Of course, that didn't exactly settle easy with Gabriel. The kid wasn't a _kid_ , really, but he was close enough to get himself in trouble if he wasn't careful, especially sticking his thumb out on the side of the road.

Still, it wasn't his problem. He wasn't anyone's mom. He was just a guy with an old pick-up. And if Sam wanted to run off and hitchhike all the way down Route 54, that was his business.

Logan wasn't much of a town; it was home to a thousand people on a good day, but pretty in a dusty, hot sort of way. Gabriel pulled into the sandy parking lot of a whitewashed little diner and got out of the car. The air was dry and unyielding, and he breathed it in deep. "C'mon, Sam. Guy your size, I'm betting you're still hungry."

Sam sized up the diner as he leaned against the car door. "Chuck's," he read off peeling sign over the door. "This place looks like it was here before the desert."

Gabriel laughed, patting him on the shoulder. "Probably was, but I'll bet they can make a decent BLT."

It was air-conditioned, at least, and pretty quiet. Two other men – one heavyset with long, messy hair pulled back in a ponytail, and the other skinny as a rail and so bald that the sunlight reflected off the back of his head – sat at the counter down near the end, and looked up when he and Sam came inside before going back to their meals. "Take a seat anywhere," the waitress said as she refilled the men's water glasses.

"Window seat?" Gabriel asked. Sam was quiet, but slunk over to a booth far away from the door. He slid up next to the glass with his backpack taking the space next to him, and Gabriel sat across the table. For a long couple of moments, he drummed his fingernails against the scuffed, peeling surface.

When Sam didn't take a menu, Gabriel inwardly groaned. He wasn't expecting to have the kid open up and tell him his entire life story, but at least he could drop the surly adolescent act for a few minutes. Of course, he probably wouldn't have been in the best of moods either if he'd just walked God-knows-how-many miles through the desert. Poor guy probably had heat exhaustion or something. "C'mon, I know you've got to be hungry. You are gonna order something, right?"

Wordlessly, Sam pulled out a menu and looked it over. "There it is," Gabriel said. "BLT. Just what I need. How about you?"

The waitress came over to greet them before Sam got a chance to speak. She was a young blonde thing, with rosy cheeks and a cheery smile. She raked her eyes over Sam, not even subtle, and flashed her pearly whites at him as she bounced a bit on the balls of her feet. "Hey there. I'm Becky," she said. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Water," Sam said barely a second after she'd finished asking. "Biggest you got, please."

"Yeah, it's hot out isn't it?" Becky said, staring at him a moment before Gabriel cleared his throat. "Oh! And for you, sir?"

"You got Pepsi?"

"Coke."

Gabriel shrugged. "Just get me a lemonade if you don't mind."

"One lemonade and one tall drink of water," Becky repeated, grinning at Sam as she did. Smooth. "And are you ready to order?"

"I'll have your BLT. Heavy on the B, honey mustard on the side." Gabriel sent her a polite smile as he tucked his menu back behind the salt and pepper. Becky scrawled it down and looked up at Sam.

"Cheeseburger," Sam said. "With everything on it."

"Sounds perfect," Becky agreed. "And ah, is this separate checks or-"

"Yeah," Sam said.

"No," Gabriel piped up at the same time. Becky blinked at him, and he held up a finger. "Just one check, please."

"One check. Got it." She smiled at Sam once more before heading back to the kitchen, and Sam leaned across the table, brow furrowing.

"Look, I got a ride, and I appreciate it, but I don't need charity."

"Oh please, it's not charity," Gabriel told him. "It's just a burger, Sam."

"I can pay for my own burgers."

"Of course you can. But let me cut you a break, huh? You haven't exactly had an easy day."

Sam hardly seemed convinced. If anything, he looked angry, lips pressing together in a hard line and his arms folded in front of him. "What's your angle, huh?" He half-whispered. "Trying to make it out like I _owe_  you something? You some kind of perv?"

"No! _Christ,_  no, Sam!" Gabriel leaned back in his seat with a sigh. This kid was trying his patience. "Look, if you want to pay for your own damn lunch so bad, you can. I'm just trying to do something nice for fuck's sake-"

" _Sir._ " Becky was back, and she didn't seem happy as she put his lemonade down in front of him. "This is a family restaurant. Please watch your language." He grunted out an apology, but she hardly heard it; she had turned her attention to Sam again, and her frustration melted into a sweet smile as she plunked down the biggest glass of water in front of him that Gabriel had ever seen. "Your meal will be out soon. If there's anything else I can get you, just let me know!"

Sam was too caught up in gulping down half the glass of water for him to answer with anything more than a nod, and Becky seemed just the slightest bit disappointed. Gabriel had to admit she was sweet...in a slightly desperate sort of way.

When she'd left again and Sam had put down his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of one large hand, Gabriel occupied himself by emptying two packets of Splenda into his lemonade and stirring it in. "I was gonna track down a convenience store after this," he said. "Get some supplies. You could buy me a candy bar. Pay me back for the one you ate. How's that sound?"

Sam crunched on a piece of ice. "Sure," he said. "How am I supposed to pay you back for the ride?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "You don't have to, Sam. Everything doesn't have to be tit for tat, you know? Look, you..." He sighed, took a long sip from his drink. "You wanna know why I stopped for you? You really want to know?"

Sam looked just the slightest bit apprehensive as he nodded, and Gabriel shrugged. "You remind me of myself, okay?"

"What?"

"I left home young too. Didn't have much more than you. And nobody bought me lunch." He swallowed back more of the tart lemonade to flood away the bitter taste the words left in his mouth. When he had to stop for breath, he thumped the glass back onto the table, the drink sloshing around and ice clinking against the sides. "That's my angle, I guess. I know how much it sucks. I know how many kids run away from home, though-" He held up a hand, a placating gesture. "I know, I know, you're not running, and you're not a kid. I just figured...hell, I could at least do what I could to help one, right?"

Sam furrowed his brow, staying silent for a long moment. "But why me?" he asked.

"Well..." Gabriel brought the glass to his lips again. "You were the only one stupid enough to go wandering through the desert."

That might have been a smile tugging at the corners of Sam's mouth, but Gabriel couldn't be completely sure. Sam tipped more ice into his mouth and crunched it. "Why did you leave home?" Sam asked. Gabriel blinked at him. He could honestly say he hadn't been expecting that question. But Sam didn't look like he was messing with him; he just seemed curious.

Gabriel smiled at him. "That's a long, sad, boring story if ever there was one, kiddo," he said. "Way more interesting things to talk about." Sam didn't press, just nodded and stared down at his dirty nails. "Remind me to get painkillers at the convenience store."

"Why?"

"Because I'm out, and you're gonna be sore tomorrow after all that walking."

"What makes you think I'm still gonna be around tomorrow?" Sam asked.

Gabriel actually laughed at that. "Where are you gonna go? This town is eight miles big, tops. And I doubt you're gonna go trekking across the desert again."

"I was thinking I'd find a ride."

"You got a ride."

"Another ride."

"What, am I really that off-putting? Do I smell? Let me tell you, sasquatch, you're not exactly a rose after that hike through the heat, you know?"

"It's not a problem with you. I just..." Sam looked out the window, true to brooding, angst-ridden form.

"Not looking to get attached?" Gabriel offered.

"No."

Gabriel stirred his lemonade again, then pulled the spoon out and popped it in his mouth. "Look, kiddo...We don't have to be buddies. And you don't have to stick around with me if you don't want. Go wherever you want to go. But me? I'm getting a motel room for tonight in this tiny little town, and I'm heading out in the morning. Heading west for a bit, then I'll see where I end up. And if you want to join me, the invitation's open."

"Why?" Sam asked. "Because nobody offered to take you along with them when you left?"

"Not at first. And the people who did weren't as cuddly as I am. Trust me." Sam seemed to balk at that, his gaze flicking down to the table and inevitably falling again on his own glass. Gabriel stared straight at him, though, never looking away. He waited for Sam to look up at him again before he said, "I'm just offering. You could walk right out that door if you wanted, and I wouldn't stop you."

Sam didn't move.

Good thing, too, because Becky was back with their food, and Gabriel's mouth was watering. "BLT, honey mustard on the side," she said as she placed the sandwich in front of him. "Burger with everything. And a milkshake."

"Um...I didn't order a milkshake," Sam said.

"Oh, I know," Becky told him, flashing that sweet little smile again. "It's on the house. It's hot out, and you look like you could use a little pick-me-up, you know?" She plunked the chocolate shake in front of Sam, right beside his burger, and he nodded and got out a weak little "thanks" and even a smile before turning to his food. Becky lingered a moment, her smile faltering just a bit before she added, "Well...I'll uh...I'll be around if you need anything."

Sam stared at the treat as if it might bite him, and Gabriel chuckled to himself. He hid his smile behind his sandwich, at least until Sam pushed the milkshake toward him. "Do you want it?"

Gabriel eyed it. "Huh?"

"Consider it interest on the chocolate bar," Sam said with a shrug. "I don't like milkshakes anyway."

"Who the hell doesn't like milkshakes?"

Sam had already picked up his burger and Gabriel swore he saw the kid's jaw unhinge as he took a huge bite. Half of it was gone before Gabriel had a chance to comment on the crispiness of the bacon in his own sandwich. "Damn, kiddo," he finally said. "It's not going anywhere, you know."

With a shrug, Sam wiped his mouth as he put down the sandwich. "I was hungry."

Gabriel squinted at him. "How long has it been since you had some real food?"

Sam didn't look up as he smothered his fries in ketchup. "A few days."

"Seriously?"

"It's not like I've been starving, you know? I've had protein bars, and chips and stuff."

"Man can't live on protein bars alone, Sam," Gabriel said, an odd sort of solemnity seeping into his voice where he'd meant it to be lighthearted.

Sam didn't answer, just went back to his burger. Gabriel sipped at the milkshake, downing a good portion of it before licking his lips. It was perfect, cold and sweet and creamy, and Gabriel hummed. "So," he said. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

"About tagging along for a bit." Gabriel tucked a stray piece of tomato back into his sandwich and took a large bite. "Unless you still think I'm a pedophile or something."

"I didn't mean that," Sam said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"No, it's fine," Gabriel insisted. "Hell, if you're hitchhiking your way across the states, it's probably better for you to be a little paranoid rather than naive, you know?"

"Not gonna lecture me about stranger danger, are you?"

"God, no." Gabriel leaned back in the booth, chewing on a crunchy piece of bacon. "Hell, you're a big guy. You could probably pile drive me into next week if you wanted. But think about it, Sam. You don't have to walk across America with your thumb out. Look, it's all motels and long days on the road and crappy diner food. That's the life. But if you want to tag along, just say the word."

Sam swallowed, put down his burger, and dragged a fry through a pool of ketchup. "Don't take this the wrong way," he said after a moment. "But I mean...I doubt you have a lot of money. I can't ask you to pay for any more food or motel rooms or anything like that..."

"Oh, please," Gabriel said with a roll of his eyes. "Am I rich? God, no. But I get by, Sam. It's not like it's forever. You can get off at any stop you want. But I'm not dumping you in the middle of the desert, you hear me?"

Sam did manage the smallest of smiles at that, and he nibbled on his fries. "Not many people would offer something like that to a total stranger."

Gabriel shrugged. "Is that a no?"

The kid didn't exactly look convinced, but at least that three-foot-thick shell seemed to open up a bit, if only a tiny crack. "I'll think about it."

"Fair enough." Gabriel went back to his milkshake. "Tell you what. You tag along to the store after this and to the motel after. Get a little sleep in a real bed, even if it's on a shitty mattress. And in the morning, when I head out, you can decide if you wanna come with me then. If not, you can find another ride, or hell, settle down here in Podunk with our waitress for all I care." Sam didn't seem to like that last idea much. "Sound good, Sam?"

After a moment's thought, Sam nodded. "Sure."

* * *

Sam kept telling himself that this was a bad idea, but that little voice in the back of his head got more and more shy until he could barely hear it. He was quiet as they drove around the tiny town of Logan, looking for a convenience store or at least something that looked close enough. He didn't have anything to say. What was he supposed to say, anyway? Gabriel had picked him up in the middle of the desert, saving him hours walking in the hot sun, dehydration and possibly heat stroke. He'd given him food and water and now he was offering a bed to sleep in and a ride to wherever he might end up. It was tempting, he had to admit. Maybe too tempting.

He wasn't naive. He knew what kind of sickos were out there, looking for people like him: desperate, homeless, hungry travelers. He'd spent the ride to Logan with one hand resting over his jeans pocket and tracing the edges of his pocket knife. But he hadn't needed it. Gabriel hadn't made a single move to make him think that something wasn't right.

The guy seemed like a good man, a drifter, like he'd become recently. The whole story about Gabriel running from home around his age could have been bullshit, but somehow Sam didn't think it was. There was something about him, something that seemed...weathered. He couldn't explain it. He seemed so much older than he claimed to be, but not physically. It was like he'd seen things that had made his eyes older.

Sam wondered if he looked the same.

"Here we go," Gabriel said as he pulled up to the curb outside a modest storefront. "C'mon. I need to get water and band-aids, and you owe me a candy bar, remember?" He smiled, and Sam nodded, nudging his pocket knife aside to pull out his wallet.

The convenience store was cool at least, which Sam was grateful for. He was sick of being sweaty and hot, and even after the thankfully cool interior of Gabriel's truck, the stifling desert air was almost unbearable.

He had three dollars left in his wallet, more than enough for a chocolate bar. Even if Gabriel had been joking about paying him back, Sam was planning on doing it anyway. After all, if it hadn't been for him, he'd still be trekking through the heat on foot. And even if he hadn't made up his mind about whether or not he was planning on taking Gabriel up on his offer to share a motel room for the night, it couldn't hurt to make them even.

Gabriel hauled a 36-pack of bottled water onto the checkout counter, plopping down a box of band-aids and a bottle of ibuprofen on top. "Any motels around here?" he asked the guy behind the counter: a skinny, lanky man with big ears and a fuzzy brown goatee. His name tag read "Garth."

"Oh, yeah," Garth said with a big crooked smile. "The Tackle Box Motel is right down the street. They have mints on the pillows and everything, and their air conditioning always works."

"Perfect," Gabriel said, pulling a bill out of his wallet and paying.

"That gonna be all?" Garth asked, looking from Gabriel to Sam and back again. He handed Gabriel his change.

Sam waited for a moment for Gabriel to move his things before he stepped up and put the Snickers bar down on the counter. "Saw you were out of Milky Ways," he said.

"Yeah," Garth said with a shrug. "Sorry. We got some more in the other day, but I- uh, someone forgot to bring the box in. They all melted."

"S'okay." Sam smiled at him. "Thanks."

"Have an awesome day!" Garth called as they left.

Gabriel pulled back the vinyl cover over the truck bed and loaded the water bottles into the back before sticking the band-aids and pills into a duffle bag tucked in the corner. Sam slipped into the passenger's seat and when Gabriel got in next to him, he placed the candy bar on the dash. "You like Snickers, right?" Sam asked him.

Gabriel chuckled. "Do I like Snickers? I dare you to try and find a chocolate bar I don't like, kiddo." His smile was lighthearted and warm. "So...what do you think, Sam?"

"What?"

"You still want to find a motel?" When Sam raised an eyebrow at him, he added, "Look, you said you wanted to think about tagging along. Might do you some good to sleep on it -in a real bed, not in a bus seat or on the side of the road or something. But I promise I won't get fresh. I'll stick to my side of the room."

"I wouldn't mind some sleep," Sam said as Gabriel started the car and pulled out of the modest parking lot.

"Figured you wouldn't," he said with a smile. "Hell, you gotta be exhausted by now."

Sam had to admit that he was right. His legs were getting more and more sore by the minute, and he just knew it would be worse in the morning. All that walking in the hot sun hadn't done him much good. His whole body felt heavy and sluggish, the way it had after a long track practice back in high school.

The Tackle Box was no Hilton, but the small, cool room on the far end of the one-level building had more comforts than Sam had seen in days. It was the standard motel setup: two queen-sized beds with a cheaply made table tucked between them. The place looked like it hadn't been remodeled since the seventies at least, and it wouldn't have surprised him in the least if it had been around since this town had popped out of the sand.

"Sorry we won't be able to take in the sights," Gabriel said as he dumped his bag on the bed by the window. "I'm beat, and I've never been one for sightseeing anyway."

Sam almost chuckled. "What sights are there to see?" he asked. "Unless you like motor homes and sand."

Gabriel tutted, waggling a finger at him. "Aww, don't judge this place so fast, kiddo. Logan ain't so bad. Ute Lake isn't far from here. I've heard it's beautiful, a real oasis, but I don't have my swim trunks, and I doubt you do either."

"I didn't know there was a lake around here," Sam admitted, sitting on the edge of his bed. Gabriel nodded at him.

"Take it as a lesson not to judge a book by its dusty old cover, huh?" Sam only half-heard him, his mind wandering with his eyes as his gaze found a battered-looking guitar case sitting by Gabriel's foot. He hadn't even seen him bring it in, but he stared at it as he pulled off his backpack and dumped it on the floor.

Gabriel cocked an eyebrow at him. "Zoning out on me, sasquatch?"

"Huh?" Sam shook his head and dust freed itself from his messy hair. "No. Well, kinda. I just..." He pointed at the case. "You play?"

"I dabble," Gabriel said with a shrug, nudging the case into the space between the window and his bed until it was hidden from view. "I'm no Hendrix, but I can play _Paint It Black._ "

Sam huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh at that. This guy was weird, he couldn't deny, but he seemed like a more than half-decent man. Maybe he wouldn't mind tagging along with him for a few days. But before he could think about that, he had to wash the sweat and dirt off of him.

"You mind if I shower?" he asked. "I smell like a wet dog."

Gabriel snorted. "Hey, do your thing. If we're gonna be in close quarters for a while, I definitely won't mind."

Sam grabbed his backpack and pulled out his last semi-clean T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that weren't exactly spotless but at the very least didn't smell – maybe he could find a laundromat sometime in the next few days and spare a few quarters for clean clothes. He toed off his shoes and left his socks tucked inside them before padding into the bathroom; it was small and showed its age, but it was clean enough. And the water was crisply, blessedly cold. He almost let out a moan of ecstasy when he let it wash over him, even if the shock of the chill made his muscles tense up. He relished it; he hadn't been _cold_  in ages, and especially after the past few days of being almost exclusively sweltering, the change was a welcome one.

He did turn up the heat after a few moments to take the edge off of it, but washed his hair and skin with cool water, watching the dust and dirt wash away down the drain.

* * *

Gabriel occupied himself by flipping through channel after channel on the motel's old TV. It was almost four o'clock, and he felt it in his eyes. He was used to early starts and long days of driving, and he would have preferred to make it a few more miles to another town before stopping for the day, but Sam needed the rest more than he did, even if the kid didn't show it. He did feel just a little sorry for him, but Sam didn't seem like the kind of guy to take kindly to pity, so Gabriel was determined not to let any show. Even just plain empathy could be misconstrued enough to make Sam's hair bristle, it seemed.

Still, he wasn't going to worry about it. If they got an early start in the morning and didn't take too many rest stops, they could probably make it to Phoenix within the day, and Balthazar probably wouldn't argue about having an extra guest sleep on his floor, at least not _too_  fiercely. He chuckled a bit, wondering how Sam and old Balty would get along.

Just as he was considering getting out his guitar and strumming a bit, Sam stepped out of the bathroom, looking like he'd damn near been reborn. His hair hung down over his temples in unruly wet layers, and his shirt clung to his damp skin. The kid had a pretty impressive build under that lanky, slightly clumsy looking exterior: he was no body builder, but he was lean and sturdy.

Gabriel looked back at the Discovery Channel documentary on alligators before Sam could catch him staring. "Better?" he asked.

"Much," Sam breathed, going over to his bed and stuffing his dirty clothes into his backpack.

"Good. Didn't use all the hot water, I hope."

Sam chuckled. Seemed the shower had done as much for his mood as it had for his smell. "I wasn't exactly looking to take a hot shower after today."

"Well, I might grab one," Gabriel said, hauling himself up. "Maybe just lukewarm will do." He tossed Sam the remote – true to form, the kid caught it – and grabbed his duffel bag before heading into the bathroom himself.

He stripped quickly, looking himself over in the mirror as he waited for the water to warm up a bit. Maybe Sam could get behind cold showers, but Gabriel had never been a fan. He frowned a bit at his reflection; his dark blond hair was messy and unkempt, but that was nothing new; his face was sunburned and his jaw peppered with stubble, but he was used to that too, as he was to the slight pudge that protruded from his middle. He stood to the side and sucked it in, arching an eyebrow before letting it out again. Well, that was what he got for driving everywhere and living off of diner food and vending machines. Could be worse.

He stepped into the stream of water and took his time washing his hair, whistling as he did, and his mind inevitably wandered to Sam. That kid was one tough egg to crack, but there was something under that tough exterior, some kind of pain that Gabriel could recognize all too well. It was the kind that came from having to grow up way too much in far too short a time, an odd sort of whiplash.

He knew Sam wasn't twenty-one, but eighteen was probably believable. Maybe nineteen. Not that it mattered to Gabriel; he wasn't planning on taking the kid out to the bars, and he certainly didn't have any plans on sleeping with the guy. They'd only just met, after all, and even though that wasn't exactly a deterrent for him, the fact that Sam would never go for anything like that in a million years certainly was. Still, it didn't bother him. Sure, Sam was everything that he would go for normally – tall and solid with nice eyes and strong jaw, not to mention damn beautiful hands – but he wasn't about to even propose anything like that when Sam would most certainly stalk out the door the moment he did. Besides, Gabriel had to keep his loner tendencies on the back burner for the moment and think of Sam's well-being. Something had happened to the kid, even if he would never say what it was, and for all Gabriel knew, Sam was in no state to be having sex with anybody, let alone a guy who had picked him up on the side of the road.

Still, that hadn't stopped his dick from twitching a bit when Sam had come out of the bathroom in that damn damp tight T-shirt and loose sweatpants. Gabriel furrowed his brow in frustration as he felt his blood starting to rush south. It wasn't like he could help it; when he'd had nobody but his right hand for company in so long, it was only natural that he'd be a little frustrated. He pressed his palm between his legs and grunted softly, mind conjuring an image of Sam peeling his sweaty shirt off of his long, lean body-

He reached back and turned the hot water knob all the way to the right, leaving the flow frigid and biting. He gritted his teeth and let it wash over him, the cold killing his half-hard-on quickly. It was just too weird, made him feel too... _dirty,_  thinking of a guy he barely knew, who was years younger than he was and running from some seriously dark shit, for all Gabriel knew, to get him off in good conscience.

Sam was half-watching another documentary – this one on deep-sea fish – when he came out of the bathroom in a new T-shirt and a pair of cleanish jeans, a towel rolled up and draped across the back of his neck. "Did you know a giant squid's eye can be the size of a dinner plate?" Sam asked him, lazily glancing in his direction.

"Think I heard it somewhere," Gabriel said. Despite feeling refreshed from the shower, he still wasn't quite comfortable. Guilt gnawed at his insides when he looked at Sam. Of course it wasn't like he could help that he was horny, and it wasn't like he was going to do anything. Despite what his past might have hinted about him, Gabriel liked to think had a pretty damn strong moral compass when it came to the important things, and it was certainly more than enough to keep him from acting on his damn basic urges.

He needed a distraction. And later, a good night's sleep and a long drive would help to clear his head. Once he got to Balthazar's place, it would certainly be better. He'd been running alone for too long; he'd forgotten how to be around other people who understood why he lived the way he did, and Sam did understand, if only a little. Gabriel hoped the kid would never understand fully.

"So," he said as he flopped down on the bed and combed his fingers through his hair to try and tame it, "How long you been running, Sam?" Sam muted the TV as the show cut to commercial, and he shot Gabriel a look. "Sorry, sorry...not running. But how long have you been on the road?"

Sam shrugged. "Almost a week."

"Got anyone back home worrying about you?"

"My brother."

"Older or younger?"

"Older," Sam said. "I called him a couple days ago, before I crossed the state border, from a pay phone in Elkhart."

"How'd that go?"

"He wanted me to come home. Told me he was worried."

Gabriel laced his fingers together in his lap and leaned forward a bit, slouching. "Older brother...it's his job to worry."

Sam's laugh was dry and humorless. "Yeah, well, he can worry all he wants. I can manage. I'm not the little kid he protected when we were little."

"Bet you are to him."

It seemed to be just the thing to tweak a nerve, and Sam sat up. "Look, I get you're trying to...connect with me or something, but just stop, alright? Stop trying to psychoanalyze me."

"Alright, alright," Gabriel sighed. "Forgive me for being curious. It's not everyday I see someone so...determined." He patted his knees and stood, tossing the towel into the bathroom where it landed briefly on the edge of the sink and slid onto the floor. "I got some movies out in my truck. We can watch one to pass the time."

"Sure," Sam clipped out.

"Keep acting as surly as you want," Gabriel told him as he started to head out the door. "Look, I'll watch a movie. You can ignore me if you want, but if it piques your interest, feel free to tune in."

They wound up watching _The Bourne Ultimatum_ , and Gabriel drifted in and out of focus all throughout the last hour, but when he glanced over at Sam, the kid was watching intently, his expression fading from one of vague irritation to slight interest. Afterward, they ordered Chinese food and ate while Antiques Roadshow played in the background, but neither of them really watched.

By nine o'clock, Sam had fallen asleep with an empty rice carton on the bedside table beside him, and Gabriel quietly burrowed under his covers and turned out the light. He was thankful for his own exhaustion, because it made it easy to fall asleep. He didn't even have to count any sheep first.


	2. Chapter 2

For a few blissful moments, Sam was back in his own bed. For a time, before cogs in his brain got up to speed, he was back in Lawrence, it was a lazy Saturday morning, his brother was snoring in the next room, and his dad would be in at any moment to tell him to go mow the lawn.

It didn't take long for him to remember just how far his reality was from that half-dream. The motel blankets were scratchy and worn, and his entire body ached. His legs felt like they were worked into knots, and he groaned as he stretched them and wiped the hair from his face.

On top of everything, he was alone. With a sluggish heave, he pushed himself up on his elbows and scanned the room. Gabriel was gone, but the momentary confusion and the groggy worry that his ride had left without him faded when he noticed the duffel bag and guitar case resting on the other bed. Next to catch his eye was a folded note scrawled on the back of the receipt from the diner the previous day. It was wedged under a bottle of ibuprofen, and Sam plucked it from the bedside table and rubbed his eyes until he could focus enough to read it.

_Hey, kiddo._

_Went to gas up. Take two for the pain if you need them and be dressed and ready to go if you're still in when I get back._

_-G._

_P.S. Don't touch Frigga._

His brow pinched as he read over the last line a few times, wondering who the hell Frigga was supposed to be. It probably didn't warrant thinking about too hard, honestly, and he balled the note up and tossed it into his backpack.

Gabriel had been right about his legs; they were anything but happy with him for all he'd put them through in the past few days. His head was threatening to start hurting too, and that was just the last thing he needed. He tugged off his sweatpants and pulled on the less grody of the two pairs of jeans he had in his backpack before grabbing the bottle of pills.

He popped the seal open with the pad of his thumb and tapped two tablets into his palm, tossing them into his mouth as he headed into the bathroom. A swig of water from the tap was all it took to get them down. Hopefully, they'd do their job fast, before he sawed his own legs off to get some relief.

He'd slept well the previous night, aches and pains aside, better than he had in a long time, actually. It was the first night he'd slept in a real bed in days, and he hadn't realized just how nice it was, even if it was a cheap and lumpy motel mattress.

He was sitting on the bed, his legs stretched out in front of him as he massaged them, and he was wondering how long it would be until the painkillers kicked in when the motel room door opened. "Up and at 'em, kiddo," Gabriel chimed, tossing a pack of Pop Tarts at him. They landed in his lap, and he felt one of them split in half inside the plastic wrapper. "Good to see you're awake. I thought you'd sleep away the afternoon."

Gabriel plopped down on the edge of his own bed, munching on his own pastry. "Not that you didn't probably need it," he continued.

"What time is it?" Sam asked. He'd lost his watch somewhere on the other side of the Kansas state line, and the hands of the clock on the bedside table hadn't moved from 5:20 since they'd checked in.

"Almost ten," Gabriel said with a shrug. "Digging the bed-head by the way."

Sam ran a hand through his unruly hair, flattening it against his scalp, and when he looked up again, Gabriel was staring at him, wide-eyed. "What?" he asked, fidgeting.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Go from Cousin It to shampoo commercial model in two seconds?"

Sam furrowed his brow and swiped an errant strand back behind his ear. "It just...does that."

"Don't you own a hairbrush?"

"No."

Gabriel rolled his eyes and leaned back on the bed, making a noise that might have been a laugh but made him sound a bit like he was dying. "Oh, Lord...Tall, _and_  perfect hair? Talk about your freaky genetics."

Sam tried not to laugh. He really did, but it bubbled up from his gut before he could help it. "So," Gabriel added as sat up and perched himself on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap. "C'mere for a sec, Sambo. I got something I need to talk to you about."

Sam scooted forward until he was sitting across from him, their knees just a few inches from brushing between the two beds. "You mean about me coming with you?" For a moment, something clenched under his ribs. Had things changed? Had Gabriel decided he couldn't bring him along? Maybe that would be for the best. After all, Sam couldn't get attached right now. Not that he felt any sort of attachment to Gabriel other than gratitude.

"Sort of," Gabriel said. "Don't worry, though. The invitation is still open if you want to come. Just wanted to tell you where I was headed."

"I thought you said you didn't have a destination," Sam told him. "The best kind of road trip?" Or something like that, at least.

Gabriel let out a tiny half-laugh. "I don't have a final destination, no. But I do know where I'm headed once I leave Logan." He stood, popping a piece of toaster pastry into his mouth as he meandered across the room. "I've got a buddy just outside of Phoenix. He's kinda like me. You know, unattached." He arched his eyebrows as he balled up the Pop Tart wrapper and tossed it into the trashcan in the bathroom. "Except he's actually got a house, which is good for me whenever I'm in the area. Thought I'd pay him a visit, spend a night or two on his sofa."

"You still want to know if I want to join?" Sam asked.

"He wouldn't mind having someone else crash there. Trust me, I know him. He's barely home these days anyway, 'cept for when he needs to sleep off a late night, but his place is better than a motel, at least."

Sam studied his thumbs as he turned it over in his head. A tiny part of his brain refused to let the idea sit right; who was he to say Gabriel and his "buddy" weren't trying to lure him into some sort of elaborate trap? The thought seemed unlikely, and he wasn't about to let his imagination get the best of him, but he remembered what Gabriel had said the previous day: better paranoid than naive.

"I'd have to call my brother first," he said. Gabriel looked at him, brow pinched in confusion. Sam shrugged. "Haven't in a few days, you know? And I figure I owe it to him to be straight. Let him know where I'm headed."

Gabriel nodded, seeming to understand. "Sure thing, kiddo. Tell you what..." He reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone, an old, battered thing that looked so weathered that Sam was frankly surprised he didn't have to pull out an antenna before he dialed. "Use that if you want. I'll get us checked out and start up the A/C in the car."

He didn't stick around longer than it took to grab his bag and his guitar case and lug them out the door, and Sam found himself alone again in the motel room. His legs were starting to feel a bit better at least, but his chest felt too tight as he dialed the familiar number.

His last conversation with Dean had ended in a screaming match, and he didn't exactly want a repeat of that. He'd resolved not to call him again until they'd both had a chance to cool down, but it hadn't taken him more than a few hours to regret half the things he'd said. The morning after, he'd regretted almost all of them.

But what could Dean have expected, given the circumstances? His brother just didn't understand what he was dealing with here. He never could. Sam didn't blame him for that. After all, Dean had lost a father too. It wasn't as if Sam was the only one who was mourning. But it was different for him; Dean hadn't been there when it had happened. Dean didn't have nightmares about those yellow eyes and that rough, monstrous voice. He didn't wake up in a cold sweat every other night with the sound of a gunshot echoing in his ears.

Most of all, nobody expected Dean to do what they all seemed to be expecting of him. Everyone else just seemed to think it was so easy, so simple, but they were all wrong, Dean included. He knew so many people probably thought of him as a coward for running the way he was. Hell, he figured he was too sometimes. But he wouldn't have been able to take the looks and the comments and the questions if he'd stayed. He couldn't handle the disappointment he knew he would have seen in Dean's eyes.

He could have just said no, sure. Nobody could force him to do what had been asked of him. But Dean would never have looked at him the same again. He wouldn't have been able to look at himself the same way.

At least this way he only had to endure the disapproving looks from his own reflection rather than from anyone else. That, at least, he could handle.

The phone rang and rang, and for a moment, Sam was sure Dean wouldn't pick up. Maybe he was busy, or maybe he didn't want to answer the unfamiliar number. Either way, Sam was debating whether or not to leave a message when he finally heard a click.

"Hello?" Dean's voice was rough and heavy with sleep. He must have just woken up. Probably had another late shift at Bobby's, or maybe he'd just been out drinking. He huffed. " _Hello?_ "

"It's Sam."

There was radio silence for a solid ten seconds.

"Where the fuck are you now, Sammy?" Dean asked, sounding bitter. "Finally make it to Timbuktu?"

"New Mexico," Sam told him.

"Christ..." There was rustling on the other line, like Dean was hauling himself out of bed. "You're really not giving up, are you? You're seriously not gonna stop running."

"I didn't call so you could try to convince me to come back." Slowly, Sam stood, wanting to stretch his legs to keep them from getting too stiff again.

"So why are you calling, then? You need money or something? 'Cause it's not happening, Sam. I'm not helping you run even farther."

"That's not why I'm calling," Sam sighed. "Look, I know you're pissed. I get it-"

Dean laughed on the other end, and the sound of it made Sam's stomach turned because it was so dry and humorless, and so unlike the Dean he knew. "Pissed? You think I'm _pissed?_  I'm not pissed, Sam. I'm past pissed. I'm so far past pissed that I can't even see it anymore. I'm in fucking awe that you're still calling, when you made it pretty damn clear how much family actually means to you."

"Don't say that," Sam snapped, curling his fingers into a tight fist. "Don't do this again, Dean. Don't make it seem like I don't care. You weren't there. You don't get it. It's not just that I don't want to do what they're asking me to. I _can't._ "

"No, I wasn't there. But I wish I had been. 'Cause you know, if it were me, I'd be jumping at the chance to put that bastard away. Then maybe we could get some justice. Hell, maybe Dad would even still be alive!"

It was all Sam could take, and he knew that calling was a horrible idea right then. It took everything he had not to throw the phone clear across the room. "Shut the fuck up! Don't you dare say that!" If Dean had been here with him, he would have punched him straight in the jaw. It would have earned him a retaliating blow to the head, he knew, but it would have been worth it. His hand tingled with the urge to hit something, and his eyes burned with angry tears that he refused to let fall. Even if he was alone, he wasn't going to cry.

"Don't ever fucking say that to me," he said, and it didn't sound like his own voice, didn't even feel like it coming out. He sank down onto the bed, slouching. "Don't say that...please don't say that..."

For a moment he thought Dean had hung up, but then his brother's voice broke through the static again: "I'm sorry..."

It was the last thing Sam expected him to say. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he continued. "I didn't mean...Sammy, I didn't mean it like that."

"Yeah, you did."

Dean's sigh made static bloom on his end of the line. "What are you doing in New Mexico, little brother? What are you trying to run from? From me?"

"You and everyone else."

"Sam, that's insane. This whole thing is insane. Just...just come home, for Christ's sake. Get up on that stand and put that worthless piece of shit away for what he did."

"I can't. I keep telling you, Dean. I can't."

"Fuck that. Of course you can."

"No, I can't," Sam snapped. "I can't, and nobody gets that when I say I can't, I mean I really _can't._  You look at me different, Dean. So does Bobby and Jo. Everybody looks at me like I'm-" He stopped. He couldn't say it, so he clenched his fist and pressed his nails against his palm in the hopes that maybe it would make it hurt less.

"Like you're what?" Dean asked, his tone almost gentle.

"A failure, okay?" Sam spat.

"So prove 'em wrong. Come home. Do the right thing, Sam. Prove them all wrong."

Even though he knew Dean couldn't see, he shook his head. "Stop making it sound easy."

"It's not fucking easy. I'm not trying to pretend it is. This has been Hell, Sammy. For both of us. But for the love of...geez, just will you let me quit worrying about you? Everybody's losing their minds over you, Sam. You wouldn't believe what it took to convince Ellen not to file a missing person's report. Hell, she was this close to going after you herself! I don't want anyone to drag you back here, but you're not giving me much choice."

"You can't do that."

"What the hell am I supposed to do, huh? You packed your damn bags and ran off one morning with nothing more than a damn note. Last time you called, you were hours from home, telling me you were gonna take a bus to God knows where. Now you're in goddamn New Mexico? How long till I stop hearing from you? How long till someone calls to tell me they found your body by the road somewhere?"

"That's not gonna happen."

"Yeah, well Dad probably thought something similar, and look where he ended up."

The words cut him too deep, and he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. Still, he knew Dean was right, to some degree. "I'm headed for Phoenix, okay?"

"What?"

"Phoenix, Arizona. That's where I'm going. Got a ride with a guy named Gabriel. I'm sticking with him for a while."

"Christ, Sam. What the fuck are you even talking about?"

"I just wanted to tell you. So that you don't have to worry so much. I'm calling from his cell right now. I'll call you back in a few days, alright?"

"What, so you're catching rides from strange dudes now? What the fuck is in Phoenix that's so important?"

"Nothing, Dean, but that's where I'm going. How about...two days, okay? I'll talk to you in two days."

"Sam..." Dean sounded so tired that it made Sam's chest ache with guilt. "Just...is there anything I can say to get you to bring your ass back here?"

There was. He could say that he wouldn't hate him for not being able to do what was being asked of him. He could say that he wouldn't look at him any different because of it. He could say that he wouldn't blame him if things didn't go their way because of his refusal to take a stand, but even if Dean said all of that, there was no way for Sam to know that he was telling the truth, and the thought of going home only to see that everything he missed about it would never be the same again made him feel sick.

So he just told Dean, "No. Talk to you soon." It was all he could manage to get out. Any more words might just make his voice falter, so even though he could hear Dean trying to get something else in, he hung up.

* * *

One look at Sam and Gabriel could tell that his phone call had not been a pleasant one. Poor kid looked like he was valiantly trying to hide the fact that he was on the verge of tears – that, or he was going to punch the first thing that moved. With any luck, he just needed a shoulder to cry on, because as uncomfortable as crying people made him, Gabriel preferred that to getting hit in the jaw.

But Sam did neither. He just shoved the phone back into Gabriel's hands and got in the passenger's seat. "So," he said. "Phoenix."

After a moment of standing there staring dumbly at his phone, Gabriel got into the car himself. Same as ever, Sam wasn't in a share-your-feelings kind of mood, so if he wanted to pretend everything was fine, he could deal with it. "Phoenix," he replied. "Take it you're in?"

Sam nodded, shoving his backpack farther under the dash. "You know, you can put that in the back if you want."

"It's fine," Sam grunted.

Oh, this was definitely going to be a fun car ride.

They left Logan behind them and got out onto the open road, and it took about ten miles for Sam to finally sigh and turn to face him after staring out the window to watch the sand roll by. "Who's your friend? The one we're meeting."

Thank God. Conversation. Small talk, maybe, but it was better than the crippling silence that came with a busted car radio and a reluctance to try and reach for his cassettes in case Sam decided to bite him or something. "His name's Balthazar."

"Balthazar?" Sam repeated, sounding like the name actually tasted funny coming out.

"Yeah, yeah. Weird name, I know. But hey, at least he doesn't have to deal with people comparing him to the angel from the gospels."

They passed a speed limit sign, a mile marker and some kind of dead furry animal in silence. "Your parents religious?" Sam asked him as Gabriel tried to work out whether it was a possum or a rabbit as he watched it disappear in his rear view mirror.

"What was it that tipped you off? The name or my innocent choir boy personality?"

"Are you religious?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I don't know. I stopped caring somewhere back in Indiana."

"What's in Indiana?"

"Does it matter?"

It was the last thing he wanted to get into, truth be told. Indiana was one of those places he would have preferred to forget. Still, Sam didn't seem to feel like delving into it. "So your brother," Gabriel offered a few miles later.

"What about him?"

"What's he like?"

"A pain in my ass."

"Besides the obvious."

"You got brothers?"

"Yes. Don't change the subject. What's his name?"

"You hoping to track him down?"

Gabriel huffed out a laugh. "Not planning on it. Can't a guy be curious?" Sam didn't answer. "C'mon. We're gonna be in this car together for nine hours at least. Might as well find something to talk about that can keep the conversation from petering out every two minutes. Otherwise, this is gonna be a very boring trip."

After a beat, Sam relented. "His name's Dean."

"Dean, huh? Sam and Dean. You had some creative parents." He almost winced the moment he said it, considering the topic of Sam's parents was probably one hell of a no-fly-zone.

Sam pressed his lips together tightly "I was named after our grandfather. Him after our grandmother."

"Better than being named after a fictional character, I guess," Gabriel said.

"What about your brothers?" Sam asked after a few moments of silence that Gabriel worried were going to stretch on forever. "Unless you still want to hear more about mine."

"You want to talk about him?"

"No."

Fair enough. "Michael," Gabriel said. "He's the oldest. Luke came after him. I was the youngest. The baby of the family. Little bro Gabe. Frankly, I think Luke was supposed to be the last. I'm pretty sure I was an accident."

"What makes you say that?"

"Just call it a feeling. Maybe it just comes with coming along last." He shrugged. "Grab a tape, would you? In the glove compartment. I'd rather not listen to the sound of wind for nine hours, you know?"

Sam opened the glove compartment and rummaged through it, pulling out an empty chip bag and a few crumpled napkins and putting them aside with a slight grimace. Gabriel was almost embarrassed. Maybe he'd been driving alone for a bit too long. "Not a fan of clutter?"

"It's your car," Sam said as he pulled out a tape without looking at its title and handed it to him.

"Yes it is," Gabriel agreed. "Not gonna see what we'll be listening to?" Even as he spoke, he pulled the tape out of its battered plastic case and popped it in the player.

"I'm sure it's fine." Sam finally glanced at the label slapped on the case. "Supertramp?" Just as he spoke, the melodic sounds of Queen began to play. "Or not."

"Don't worry about it, Sammich." He grinned at the kid. "Those tapes haven't been in the right cases in years."

After a moment, as the opening chords of _I Want To Break Free_  started up, Sam said, "I could fix that," and Gabriel actually laughed.

"You what?"

"It's not like there's a whole lot to do." As he spoke, he reached back into the glove compartment and started piling tapes in his lap. "I mean, you might as well know what you're listening to."

"You really are a neat freak, aren't you?" Gabriel asked him with a smile, but Sam didn't reply. He was already busy taking one of hisAir Supply tapes out of theFleetwood Mac case, then taking theAsia tape out of theAir Supply case and bringing the matching pair together again after so long.

It went on for a few minutes like that, with the clacking of plastic against plastic getting lost between Freddie Mercury's lyrics, until finally, Sam paused, looked up at him, and said, "Who's Frigga?"

Gabriel stopped humming along to"Somebody to Love" just long enough to ask, "What?"

"That note you left me this morning. You wrote, 'don't touch Frigga.'"

"Don't you know your Norse mythology, kiddo?"

"I kinda figured you weren't talking about the wife of Odin."

Gabriel chuckled, then pointed his thumb toward the back seat. "The guitar."

"You named your guitar Frigga?"

"You say that like it's weird."

Sam said nothing. Maybe he was trying to be polite. "Anyway," Gabriel continued, "I don't like other people touching her. They don't know what she likes."

"Did you name your car too?" Whether Sam was honestly curious or trying to mock him, Gabriel couldn't say.

"You gonna think I'm crazy if I did?"

"Well, did you?"

Gabriel drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Alfred," he finally said.

"Alfred?"

"The car."

Sam halfway laughed, like he thought it was a joke. "Your car's a dude?"

"Well he's certainly no graceful lady, is he?" Gabriel patted the dashboard fondly. "Nah, he's a grumpy, temperamental old man, and he gets on my nerves like crazy, but I love him." He shrugged and slumped a bit, keeping his eyes fixed on the road as he added, "And I was obsessed with Batman as a kid. So sue me."

The tape cases clacked and clicked as Sam continued to straighten them. Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel noticed him smiling at one of them, looking a bit wan. "Funny," Sam said.

"What is?"

"AC/DC. My brother loves 'em."

"Who doesn't?"

Sam didn't reply, but his smile started to fade, and Gabriel felt his own going with it. Damn. If there was going to be some kind of heart-to-heart happening out here on the highway, Gabriel wasn't sure if he had the time to mentally prepare himself, but Sam just took a breath, like he was pushing something down before speaking again: "This friend of yours -Balthazar. Tell me about him."

"Well he's not a pedophile or a murderer or something, if that's what you're wondering."

"Good to know."

"He's from somewhere in Europe. Kind of like if Britain and France had an embarrassing one-night stand and he came along nine months later. Skinny as a rail. Got a thing for v-neck shirts. He had some rich uncle who left him everything when he died, so he quit his job and bought a nice house outside Phoenix. It's not like it's a mansion or anything, but when you're used to sleeping in motels or your car on the side of the road, it's a nice place to rest your head, you know?"

"Yeah..." Sam sounded far-off and distracted, staring out at the road ahead. "And he won't mind me tagging along?"

"Nah, he won't care. He's kind of an ass, but he's pretty alright when you get to know him. Decent, even. And we go way back. If you're with me, he'll be fine with it."

Sam hummed, and exactly what it was supposed to mean, Gabriel wasn't sure. Was he happy to hear it, apprehensive, or was he just plain tired of Gabriel's voice? He certainly wouldn't have blamed the kid. But Sam squinted a moment later, leaning forward and looking at something on the dash. "Didn't you say you filled your gas tank before we left?" he asked.

"I did."

"Doesn't look like it."

Gabriel followed his gaze, glancing down at the gas gauge on the dash. Sure enough, the needle was hovering just above E. He grumbled, reaching out to tap on it until it finally twitched and jumped back up. "Damn thing...it keeps doing that." He slapped the dash. "Behave."

Sam went back to the tapes, and it didn't take long for him to put the last of them back into the glove box, looking pleased with himself. "How am I gonna find any of my tapes now?" he jibed.

"By reading," Sam said.

"God, you just take all the fun out of it." But Gabriel was still smiling as he spoke. "No element of surprise."

"I'm kind of sick of surprises, honestly."

Of course he was. It made sense, after all. Whatever the kid had been through, it had to be had enough to make him up and run from everything he had going on in his young life. And not just anything would do that. Gabriel knew that well enough. "Me too, kiddo," he said. "Me too."

They passed mile marker after mile marker, and Gabriel switched outQueen forDavid Bowie and then forSimon and Garfunkel _._  By then, Sam had started to snore, the side of his head resting against the window. Gabriel felt a stab of sympathy for him, wondering just how much sleep he was still due to catch up on. It wasn't like there was much else to do on a long car ride, but the poor kid had gotten well over his eight hours the night before and he was still dozing off, and Gabriel couldn't help but suspect that there was more to do with it than boredom.

He wasn't a fan of talking on his cell phone while he was driving, but he'd never bothered getting one of those fancy headsets, and calling in the early afternoon was the easiest way to get Balthazar on the line without risking waking him up or catching him drunk or in a compromising position of some sort. Gabriel had had enough of that in the past, and it was hard enough getting to the point with him when he wasn't in a sour mood to begin with.

Balthazar didn't pick up on the first call, and it rang and rang until it finally went to voice mail. Gabriel rolled his eyes and ended the call before redialing. This time, it rang twice before there was a click on the other end and a breath making static bloom on the other end. "Calling from the road?" Balthazar asked.

"When am I not?" Gabriel said. "Please tell me I didn't catch you mid-booty call again."

"Do you think I would have picked up if you had?"

"Not without a few creative curses, I'm sure."

"Oh, Gabriel, you know me too well."

"Unfortunately for me."

Balthazar _tsk_ ed at him. "That hurts."

"Oh please. You've got thick skin. You can take anything I can dish out and more."

"True." There was a soft rustling sound on the other end, and Balthazar let out a contented breath as he sank into his favorite armchair. Gabriel wondered if it was still as ugly as he remembered. "So did you just call little old me to chat, or is there something on your mind?"

"I'm just out of Logan," Gabriel said. "Headed your way. Your couch open?"

"I'll do you one better. Finally turned that study into a guest bedroom." He chuckled. "I figured an extra bed would do me more good than a sad excuse for an in-house library. Besides, I can keep my books anywhere. A bed in the kitchen would just be cumbersome."

"Not to mention unsanitary," Gabriel added, "and probably a fire hazard. But I guess that's a yes, then?"

"I'll put some fresh sheets on."

Gabriel paused a moment, glancing over at Sam, who was still out cold. "You mind a little extra company?"

"I've told you before, Gabriel, as long as you keep your paws off my sweets, you're welcome whenever you like."

"I meant besides me."

Balthazar went quiet, which was something Gabriel wasn't used to in the least and it unsettled him. There was no way he'd have a problem with Sam staying too. And it wasn't like he could kick the kid to the curb just to get a night's sleep in a decent bed. He wasn't _that_  much of an asshole, and neither was Balthazar, deep down. "You still there?"

"Of course I am. Just took me by surprise is all. I didn't think you were one for traveling companions."

"He's not a companion, really. Just...someone who really shouldn't be alone, you know?"

He could _hear_  Balthazar's smirk when he said, "Oh, I see what you mean."

"Fuck off, Balth. It's not like that."

"Ooh, touchy, are we? What is it like, then?"

"He's just a kid," Gabriel told him. "Said he's twenty-one, but I don't believe a word of that. Eighteen, maybe."

"Awfully young to be traveling alone."

"I started young too, remember. Look, he's a runaway. You know how it is. Doesn't want to go home, but doesn't have anywhere else to go. I found him wandering in the desert miles outside of Logan. If I hadn't picked him up, he probably would have wound up in some sicko's trunk or something."

"You don't know that. God, have you always been so cynical?"

Gabriel sighed. "Can he crash on your couch or not?"

"Well I'm not exactly going to turn him away. How likely is he to vandalize my living room?"

"I'd say the danger of that is pretty much nill. Might want to stock your fridge, though. He's got a healthy appetite and I'd say he's behind a few hot meals."

"I'll order a few pizzas. Is that hot enough?"

"Sure," Gabriel said, smiling a bit into the receiver. "I owe you one."

"You've owed me one for years. I'd say they've added up quite a bit by now. I should start you on a tab."

"I'll buy you a case of beer."

"Make it a good bottle of scotch and I'll call it even."

"How good is good? You know I'm not a scotch guy."

"Far out of your price range, Gabriel. Obscenely far."

"Of course it is. Thanks, Balth."

"Oh, don't thank me. You make it sound like I'm doing you a favor." He practically spat the word out, like it tasted bad. Gabriel could hear his next words in his head so clearly that he mouthed along with Balthazar as he added, "I don't do favors."

"Put it on my tab then."

"I plan to. When are you coming?"

"Sixish. Five if I break the speed limit."

"Five, then."

"Perfect."

Sam was starting to stir, and Gabriel hung up as he did. "You shouldn't talk on the phone while you're driving," Sam told him, and Gabriel chuckled.

"You gonna report me to the authorities?"

"God, no. But if you get in a crash and kill us both, I'll haunt you."

"How are you supposed to haunt me if we're both dead?"

Sam stretched his long limbs as best he could in the cramped space. "I just woke up, okay?" He glanced out the window. "How long was I out?"

"Not long. Wish I could say we're almost there, but we've got another four hours to go at least. You hungry?"

"Kinda," he said with a shrug, but his stomach's gurgling reply was much more adamant.

They pulled off at the next exit and got some burgers to go before getting back on the road. The drive was quiet, for the most part, but the silence was comfortable, or at least it wasn't uncomfortable. About two hours from Phoenix, Sam finally asked, "How do you know this guy, Balthazar?"

Gabriel shrugged. "We're old friends."

"I got that. But it doesn't really answer my question. How did you meet?"

He forced a smile. "That's a boring story, kiddo."

"Not like I've got anything better to do."

So he wasn't dropping it. It couldn't hurt to tell him...maybe not everything, but something to satisfy his curiosity wouldn't do any harm. He adjusted his fingers on the steering wheel, stretching them and tightening them around it again. "Short version?"

"Okay."

"I left home when I was young. Eighteen, barely."

"Why?"

"Doesn't matter." The words came out more acidic than he'd hoped they would, so he added, "It's depressing. You wouldn't want to hear it." He took a breath and watched the lines on the road disappear under the hood of the car. "Anyway, I was in about the same boat as you. Didn't have anyone to go to, and I got involved with the wrong people. Not all of them were bad by a longshot, but it only takes a few to get you to a bad place, you know?"

Sam nodded, solemnly. God, this conversation was turning dark fast, and he was barely even skimming. "Balthazar helped me out. He didn't have much then. Just an old apartment with a shitty pull-out sofa, but it was something until I could find a place of my own. It was just temporary, though. After I got out of the hole, I bought my ride and headed out. Not too long after that, Balthazar came into his inheritance and moved out to Phoenix, and now he's got a way more comfortable couch."

His smile was less forced this time, but it still felt off. Sam stared at the dash. "So what was it, drugs?" Sam asked, and a laugh punched its way out of Gabriel's stomach.

"God, you're forward, you know that?"

"You can tell me to fuck off if you want."

He kept his eyes on the road. "Yeah," he said, the word getting caught on the way out. "You name it, I did it." He almost expected Sam to rattle off a list, but he never did. Now the silence wasn't so comfortable. "But hey, don't worry. Haven't touched anything harder than pot in years. You're not riding with a junkie."

Finally, his smile came without leaving his face feeling tired, and though Sam didn't mirror it, he did let out a small breath that Gabriel didn't miss. It looked like relief, which was a small enough thing to most people, but for a kid like Sam, it was probably a rare gift. "Good to know."

* * *

Phoenix was _hot._  He thought he'd be used to it by now, but after eight hours in an air conditioned car, the heat made him groan. Still, it felt phenomenal to finally stretch his legs properly, and his ass definitely thanked him for getting off of it after so long.

The house wasn't gargantuan, like he'd been picturing in his head. From what Gabriel had told him about this guy Balthazar – about how his inheritance had pretty much left him secure for life and let him do whatever he pleased – he'd imagined some elaborate mansion with glass walls and pictures of naked women over the fireplace. It seemed so stupid when they finally got there and saw that it was pretty much just a normal house.

It was tucked away off a long, winding gravel road, with a cream-colored exterior and a flat roof. A slate-paved path led them from the driveway, curving around a garden of hardy, prickly desert plants with thick leaves and long spines, through the narrow archway in front of the front door. It was a little cooler in the shade of the roof over their heads at least, but Sam was still sweating as Gabriel rang the doorbell.

"You're not a fan of the heat, are you?" Gabriel asked him, and it sounded suspiciously like he was teasing him.

"No, I'm not," he clipped out, and Gabriel covered a laugh as he turned back toward the door just as a figure approached the frosted glass.

The man who Sam assumed was Balthazar was skinny and unshaven, and much older than he'd expected. He was at least forty, with short, blond hair and stubble, and he was wearing the deepest v-neck shirt that Sam had ever seen. "God," he said, looking up at Sam with eyebrows raised. "I knew Gabriel had a thing for big boys, but he's outdone himself."

" _Balthazar,"_  Gabriel snapped. "You don't have to be an ass."

"Pot, kettle, black, darling," Balthazar said with a grin. He turned back to Sam. "I'm just joking. You've got to be baking, aren't you? Not from around here, I take it?" He went back inside and disappeared around a corner, leaving the door open.

As Gabriel stepped in after him, he leaned close. "Don't let him get to you, alright? He really is harmless."

"He's not getting to me," Sam promised him, and slipped inside. He couldn't remember how many times in the past few days he'd thanked whatever deity might be listening for air conditioning, but he tacked another one onto the list.

To the right of the foyer was a large kitchen, right next to the stairs to the second level. Sam could see it from the living room; the walkway wrapped around above their heads with a banister along the edge. Balthazar had climbed the stairs and was leaning over the railing, looking down at them. "Give him the grand tour, would you, Gabriel?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes, in a fond sort of way. "Yeah, yeah. If you're in the middle of an orgy, send them home, would you?"

Sam thought he caught Balthazar flipping Gabriel off as he went into the room behind him, and Gabriel chuckled. "What did I tell you, kiddo? Harmless."

"He's definitely something."

"He is that."

"I thought he'd be..."

"What?" Gabriel asked. "Younger?"

Sam blinked. "Well...yeah."

"He's still in his twenties at heart, believe me."

The living room was large and open, with heavy curtains framing the windows along the exterior wall. The floor was hard wood, but a richly colored red carpet stretched across it. In the corner was a horrendously ugly armchair, upholstered in dark green with what had probably once been gold color swirling around the arms and back, but it had aged so much that it looked like someone had drizzled mustard on it. The rest of the furniture was more tasteful, drawing from a pallet of black and dark gray. The biggest flat screen TV that Sam had ever seen hung on the far wall, and the rest of the wall space was occupied by a few mirrors and weird modern paintings that Sam found ugly at best and vaguely disturbing at worst.

"You can watch some TV if you want," Gabriel told him. "Just stay away from his liquor cabinet." He gestured toward a large wooden shelf on the wall nearest the kitchen. "He's picky about his booze. Likes that fancy bourbon and scotch, you know the stuff that's been aged in the dark for half a millennium. I'm more of a beer guy myself."

"I'm not really a fan of scotch anyway," Sam said. It was the truth. His dad had liked it, though. He grimaced at the ugly chair, and Gabriel chuckled at him.

"Ugly as sin, right?"

"Kinda, yeah."

"Word to the wise, kiddo. Don't sit in it."

Sam eyed him, then looked back at the chair, dubiously. "Why?" he finally made himself ask.

"Cause it's his favorite for some reason. And he'll cuss you out in three languages if you put your ass anywhere near it."

"Right," Sam said. "Okay."

They stood there, neither of them making a move to sit anywhere for a few moments, until Gabriel finally asked, "You don't want to sit down either, huh?"

"Not really. I mean, I've been sitting for hours."

"I know the feeling." He strolled from one end of the living room to the other, fingers gently catching the curtains when they were within reach and then letting them fall against the windows again. "After a long day of driving, sometimes I can't get my legs to stay still. Makes it hard to sleep, even if I'm exhausted."

Sam knew the feeling. For too many nights after everything had gone to shit, he hadn't been able to make himself lie still. Not that sleep would have come easy anyway, but he would just get out of bed and walk laps around Bobby's house, up the stairs and down them again, into the kitchen and sometimes out onto the porch, until his feet hurt. Dean had thought it was sleepwalking, said he'd read somewhere that trauma could cause that sort of thing, and Sam had never corrected him.

Balthazar leaned over the railing, looking down at them. "I ordered you a pizza."

"Great," Gabriel said, and Sam could practically see his mouth watering. "When's it getting here?"

"Erm..." Balthazar looked at his watch as he meandered down the stairs. "Two hours ago." He nodded toward the kitchen. "It's in the fridge."

"Cold pizza. How kind of you."

"I have a microwave, you ingrate." He smiled as he pulled on his coat. "Trust you're both competent enough not to blow up my kitchen."

"Where are you going?" Sam found himself asking before he thought better of it.

Gabriel and Balthazar both answered at the same time: "Out." Balthazar smiled as Gabriel continued: "He does that."

"That I do. Don't wait up for me, hm? I'm meeting some friends at the Lustre."

"And by friends, you mean booty call," Gabriel finished, and Balthazar smirked at him.

"You know me too well, Gabriel. It's not healthy."

"Trust me, I know," Gabriel said with a mock grimace. "Go, have your disgusting fun. I'll make sure to make an absolute wreck of your kitchen."

"Wouldn't expect anything less." He headed out the door, but poked his head back in a moment later to add, "Oh, and don't use the downstairs bathroom. Had a minor plumbing catastrophe the other day. It's out of commission until I can get the damn plumbers in."

"Noted," Gabriel called, already in the kitchen and inspecting the contents of Balthazar's fridge.

Sam followed into the kitchen after Balthazar was gone, feeling a little like he was just being tugged along this way and that. But Gabriel smiled at him as he pulled the pizza out and put the box on the counter. "Cold pizza," he chimed, rubbing his hands together. "C'mon, kiddo. Let's dig in. I'm starving."


	3. Chapter 3

They sat on the floor, cross-legged, Gabriel leaning back against the couch and Sam slumped over at the coffee table in front of them. "Why are we sitting on the floor again?" Sam asked.

"Because Balth would kill us if we got pizza sauce on his furniture." He shrugged. "But he hates this rug."

"And why aren't we eating at the dining room table?"

"Because tables are for squares."

Sam chuckled at that. Thank God. Gabriel had been worried at first that Balthazar had put him off, but the kid seemed pretty at ease with the whole situation now that they were a bit more settled. Of course Balthazar wasn't everyone's cup of tea by a long shot, but it was good to know that Sam had a pretty thick skin. Infuriatingly thick, even, he had to admit.

There was just something so damn satisfying about being able to make the guy laugh. Gabriel had always loved people like that. Sure, the people who laughed at everything he said like he was some kind of god of entertainment were great for a ego boost every now and again, but somehow, he liked the people who barely ever smiled even better. It was an even bigger ego trip in the end, maybe, but it was a lot more satisfying.

Sam picked another piece of pepperoni off of his slice and added it to Gabriel's growing pile. "Who the hell doesn't like pepperoni?" Gabriel asked him.

"Me."

Gabriel paused a moment. "How the hell do you not like pepperoni?"

"Why do you like it so much?"

"Because it's fantastic. You freak." He laughed, but Sam didn't, a deep frown creasing his brow.

Shit.

"Don't call me that," he said, his voice soft and his eyes downcast.

Gabriel felt his stomach sink. "Don't call you..."

"A freak," Sam snapped. "Don't call me a freak."

"Okay." He held up his hands. "Okay, kiddo."

Alright, so he'd struck a nerve. File away for future reference under "Things to avoid lest ye evoke the sasquatch's rage."

Sam fell silent, picking at his pizza. Just when it seemed like they were making some kind of progress, the kid pulled back into his armor again. Hell, maybe he'd never open up. If that was the way it had to be, so be it. It wasn't like getting Sam out of his shell was Gabriel's problem.

So he went with his good old plan B: change the subject. "Balthazar set up a guest room upstairs. It's got a bed and everything. With clean sheets."

After a beat, Sam asked, "Did you put a black light to it?"

Gabriel laughed so hard he almost choked. "God...god, no. I wouldn't. But it won't give you crabs."

"Aren't you sleeping up there?"

"Nah. I'll take the couch. It's what I'm used to. You take the bed, kiddo."

"Gabriel-"

"Don't you dare try and argue, Sammich. You won't win. Haven't you realized that by now?"

Sam sighed and went back to his pizza, chewing on the crust. It was too chewy for Gabriel's liking, but he wasn't about to throw away good food just because he had to work out his jaw a little more than he would have liked to eat it. "I think sleeping non-motel-issued mattress would be too weird for me. I probably wouldn't even be able to get any rest." He pointed his crust at Sam. "You, though...you could appreciate it."

Sam shrugged. "How long are we staying here?"

So Sam had the same plan B as he did. Figured. He wasn't exactly surprised. "Don't know. I was thinking we could head out tomorrow afternoon if you were up for it."

"So soon?"

"You want to stay longer? Just say the word, Sam. I'm not in a hurry. But I'm not staying any more than a day or two. I don't like to settle. If you want to spend some real time in one place, you can run on home."

He was quiet a moment before saying, "Where are you headed?"

"Thought I might go up Route 17, toward Cedar City in Utah. After that, maybe California. I've always loved San Francisco." Sam looked a little pale. "You okay there, kiddo?"

"Yeah," Sam clipped out. "Just...I've never been to California. Never been that far from home..."

"You're already a long way from home, Sam."

"I know."

Gabriel paused to chew. "And you don't want to go back."

Sam's reply was immediate and predictable: "No."

Annoyance lodged like a burr in Gabriel's ribs, and he dropped his pizza slice on the napkin in front of him. "Jesus, Sam...What's got you running so fast from home all of a sudden, huh? What the hell happened to make you so scared?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah, actually. If I'm the one giving you a ride from your problems, I feel like I should have a right to know what those problems are. Is someone after you? Should I sleep with an eye open?"

"No! Nothing like that."

"Then what is it?"

"It doesn't matter."

" _Fuck,_  Sam!" Gabriel balled his hand into a fist and squeezed, forcing the anger into it and letting it burn there. When he spoke again, his tone was softer, but still strained because dammit, this kid was giving him a migraine. "One minute you're cracking jokes and the next you're shutting me out faster than anyone I've ever met. You don't have to give me the gory details, Sam. But don't you get that I'm trying to _help_  you? And it's not fucking easy either."

Sam set his jaw, and Gabriel knew he was getting nowhere. "I didn't ask you to pick me up. If you want to leave me here in Phoenix and go off to California, do it. I'll be fine."

"I'm not leaving you anywhere, Sam. I know how it feels to be dumped on the side of the road and I'm not doing it to anyone else."

The silence that fell after that was crushing, and it killed Gabriel's mood along with his appetite. It didn't help that Sam got up a moment later, his own hunger apparently dissipated too. "I don't need you to help me or teach me a lesson, okay? There's nothing you can do." He paused, shoulders slumping, and when he spoke again, his anger seemed gone, leaving him sounding tired and worn down. "Trust me, alright? You can't do anything to help me."

"Maybe I could if you'd just fucking talk-"

Sam whirled around, glaring. "Bring my dad back to fucking life, then," he snapped. "Can you do that? Take a bullet out of his chest? Can you bring him back?"

Gabriel's stomach dropped. God, he hated that feeling – helplessness, pity, the slow, sinking realization that anything he did to try and help would just be putting a Bandaid on a shark bite. "No," he finally said. "Fuck, Sam...why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it never mattered."

"Sam..." He took a step toward him. "If there's anyone in the world who knows what that feels like, I'm it, okay? To lose your dad...I know what it's like-"

"Fuck you," Sam spat, and Gabriel had to admit it took him by surprise. "Just...just fuck you. Stop trying to get into my head. Stop trying to relate, for christ's sake. I'm nothing like you. Stop trying to make me think I am." He turned, stomping on the door and slamming it behind him, and Gabriel went to the window, expecting to watch the kid disappear down the road. But he didn't. He stopped in the driveway, arms crossed, fuming. He didn't move from that spot for what felt like forever, and Gabriel sighed.

There was too much pent-up emotion trapped in the room, stinking like overripe fruit. He went to his duffel bag, resting next to his guitar case on the couch. If he didn't do something, he was going to snap quicker than badly tuned string.

* * *

Sam didn't want to go inside.

He hated the moment after an outburst like that, when he realized what an ass he'd been. It was always the worst part, after cooling off, replaying the scene over and over and knowing that he'd have to go back and face what had happened. Gabriel wouldn't hold it over his head. Something in him just knew he'd forgive him. But that didn't mean he didn't feel like shit.

He was just trying to help...That was all Gabriel had done since picking him up. He'd given him food and a place to stay and a ride. Why was it so hard to just tell him the truth? Of course, he knew why. Even thinking about it now made his chest ache and his throat burn, and his heart pounded with fear. There was no winning; if he kept running, it would catch up to him eventually, or he'd wind up like Gabriel – with no home and no family to speak of, living off of diner food and moving from motel to motel. But if he went home...it was too much to face. They'd asked too much of him.

Had they really? A tiny voice in the back of his head, getting louder each day, kept asking, was it really so big and terrifying a thing to do? But he squashed it down, just like he always had, because if he questioned that now, he just might go back. And there was no telling what would happen if he did. There was no way to know how people would look at him.

For now, though, there was something much smaller he had to face. He stood out there for a few more minutes, or maybe more. The air was warm, but it had cooled down considerably as the sun set, so he wasn't sweating too bad. Finally, after he'd decided he'd put off the inevitable long enough, he took a breath and went inside.

The air smelled sweet and thick when he headed back to the living room, and he wrinkled his nose. It was smoke, but not from burning food or a fire or a cigarette. It didn't take long to find the source: Gabriel was stretched out on the couch, his feet resting up on the arm and a joint pinched between his fingers.

"There you are," he said when Sam paused. "Good to see you, sasquatch."

Sam shrugged, going over to him and sitting on the opposite couch. "I wasn't going to stand out there forever." Gabriel didn't seem mad, though it wasn't hard to see why. "About what happened-"

"Say no more, kiddo," Gabriel told him, raising his hand before bringing it to his lips and taking a drag off the joint. There was silence for a long moment before he exhaled in a neat puff. "It's ancient history."

Sam waved the smoke from his face. "Is that supposed to give you inspiration for song lyrics, or do you just like the taste?"

"I have glaucoma," Gabriel said smoothly.

"No you don't."

Gabriel brought a finger to his mouth and shushed him before giggling. "You're right...but don't tell anybody." He held out the joint to him. "Want any?"

Sam considered it a moment. "No...it's okay." Gabriel studied him so intently it almost made him want to squirm.

"Good kid," he said, and he pulled his hand back. "Do me a favor, would you? There's a bag of pretzels in the cabinet in the kitchen. Nab it for me?"

"Pizza not enough for you?"

He shook his head. "I need something crunchy. I always crave salt and crunch when I'm stoned."

"How stoned _are_  you?"

Gabriel made a noncommittal noise. "Enough. Not horrendously. Seriously, though, pretzels. Munchies."

"Okay, okay..." Sam got up and went over to the kitchen, the smell of the smoke following him all the way there. Maybe he'd get a contact high. The pretzels were in a big, family-sized bag sealed with a clip, but Balthazar would probably hardly care even if Gabriel ate the whole thing. It wasn't like the guy was hurting for extra money to drop on snacks.

He plopped the bag down in Gabriel's lap, and he made a faint "Oomf!" sound, more out of surprise than anything else when it landed. "Yes!" Gabriel said, holding the joint between his teeth as he dug in.

"To answer your question," he added several pretzels later, "No, I'm not looking for inspiration. Last song I tried to write while I was baked was all about muffins." His shoulders shook as he laughed. "I swear I thought it was the most beautiful ballad ever penned. At the time, anyway."

He wasn't sure if it was the secondhand smoke, or just Gabriel's weed-fueled wit, but Sam started to smile. "And here I thought you were one of those hopeless romantic guys who wrote songs to girls." Gabriel arched an eyebrow at him. "Or guys."

"Or both," Gabriel finished, grinning, and he shrugged. "I was never a songwriter. There was really only ever one girl who I might have tried for, but she'd never been one for that sort of thing. It was too sweet for her." His smile faded, and he got a far-off, thoughtful look in his eye, like he was losing himself in a memory. Whether it was a pleasant one or not, Sam couldn't really tell, but he snapped back a moment later. "Anyway, it's not like I'm trying to impress anyone now."

He took another drag, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the arm of the couch before forming his lips into a tight O shape and blowing a soft smoke ring.

What the hell, Sam thought. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to be. He held out his hand. "On second thought, I think I'll try some of that."

Gabriel smirked at him. "Not such a good kid after all, huh?" he asked, but handed him the joint anyway. "I'd been hoping."

Sam pinched it between his fingers, eying it. The smell hadn't exactly gotten any better, but he didn't mind it so much now. Earlier it had smelled a little like skunk, but now it was sweeter and more earthy. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gabriel grinning at him. "It's not gonna bite you, kiddo."

He rolled his eyes. "I know that."

"You've never smoked before, have you?"

"My brother used to, when he was in high school. I just never really bothered."

Gabriel giggled at him. "You're gonna hate it."

Sam ignored him, brought it to his lips, inhaled, and immediately felt like he was going to cough up a lung. He was vaguely aware of Gabriel cracking up on the other couch, cackling at him as he tried to stop hacking. By the time he got his breath back, his eyes were watering, and Gabriel was shaking with his arms around his own stomach. "I told you," Gabriel said.

Sam coughed into his hand. "Shut up."

"Oh, relax, kiddo. Not bad for your first go. First time I tried it, I coughed so much I almost puked." He pulled out another pretzel and bit it in half while Sam chugged most of the glass of water he'd left on the coffee table earlier. "Look, don't inhale it too deeply, alright? Don't try too hard. You'll hurt yourself." He dissolved into giggles again.

After a moment, Sam mustered up the courage to give it another shot, and he did take Gabriel's advice, just pulling enough into his lungs to taste before carefully exhaling in a slightly shaky breath. "That's it," Gabriel crooned. "See? Easy peasy. Try not to waste it. Good pot is one of the only things I splurge on."

Sam muffled a cough into his shirt and handed the joint back to Gabriel when he reached for it. He didn't exactly feel any different, aside from his throat being dry and his eyes still watering. "I don't feel it."

"Of course you don't. You barely got any. You don't feel awake after one sip of coffee, do you?" He tossed a pretzel into the air and caught it in his mouth. "Relax. Take it easy."

It wasn't until the third time that Sam managed to hold it for longer than a second or two, but at least he wasn't coughing too badly anymore. They slipped into an amicable silence, so Gabriel looked through Balthazar's CD collection and picked out a _Bad Company_  album, bemoaning the fact that Balthazar apparently didn't own anything by _Pink Floyd._

Somewhere around the third song, Gabriel tossed another pretzel, and it went sailing halfway across the room. For some reason, it was the funniest thing Sam had ever seen, and they laughed for a solid five minutes until they were red in the face and breathless. When he managed to subdue his own giggles for a moment, Gabriel said, "If Balth steps on that later, he's gonna be pissed at me." Then the laughter started all over again.

By the time he calmed down, Sam's stomach hurt and there were tears streaming down his face. He'd toed off his shoes and left them on the floor when he stretched out on the couch across the coffee table from Gabriel, and he tucked his feet into the gap between the cushions and turned his head to look at him. "So Balthazar isn't gonna mind us doing this in his house, right? I mean, it stinks in here."

"Balthazar?" Gabriel snorted. "You really think he of all people is gonna care that we're smoking in his living room? Please." He chuckled at the ceiling. "He'll probably yell at me for getting the smell in his carpet. He hates the smell of pot when he's not getting any himself. Who doesn't though? It's nasty the day after. This whole house is gonna smell like a skunk exploded."

After another round of giggles, Sam asked, "Who was the girl?" Gabriel hummed questioningly. "The girl you said you wanted to write a song for. You know, the one who hated sweet. Who was she?"

Gabriel was silent for a long moment before he sighed. "Kali," he finally said, a little wistfully. "Her name was Kali."

"Kali," Sam repeated. The name sounded familiar somehow, and he squinted as he tried to remember. "You mean like the Hindu goddess?"

Gabriel chuckled. "Nerd, much?"

"I paid attention in school."

"Yeah, well...she wasn't a goddess. Not officially anyway. And I could spout some cheesy one-liner about how she was always one to me, but I'm not quite high enough for that." He grinned, studying the joint pinched between his fingers and watching the smoke slowly swirl in the air in front of him. "I left home young, remember. I told you that much. After my dad left, well...things kind of went to shit, truth be told. I couldn't stand it so I got out of there, like people do." He held Sam's gaze for a long moment, and somehow, Sam managed not to look away.

"Anyway," Gabriel continued. "I met some people. Not all of them as decent as a person might like. There was sex and drugs and alcohol, stupid decisions made by all involved. But they weren't bad people, kiddo. You gotta understand that. Some of them were dicks, but they were family, for a while anyway."

Sam sat up on the couch, slowly, leaning forward to listen more intently. "And Kali was one of them?"

Gabriel took a half-hearted puff off the joint. "Yeah. She was. Saved my ass, too. I was kind of stupid for a while. Like really stupid. Looking back, I guess part of it was that I just didn't care. I didn't want to die. That's not how it was. I just...didn't really care if I happened to, you know?" He rolled the joint between his fingers. "Christ, this conversation is getting depressing. Sorry, Sambo. Didn't want to drag you down when you're trying to enjoy your high."

"No," Sam told him. "No, keep going."

"What, seriously?"

"Yeah."

"You wanna hear my sob story?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah."

Gabriel had one eyebrow lazily arched as he sat up too, putting the joint in the ashtray on the coffee table. "Not a whole lot to tell, really. Dad left. Brothers fought. Shit hit the fan, and I got my ass out of there before I went crazy. Walked for miles, slept on benches, eventually made it to Indianapolis before I found a group that took me in. Then everything kind of goes blurry for a few months or so." He scratched his neck. "I remember Kali, though. She wasn't exactly sympathetic when I drank myself stupid got myself a bad batch of whatever I was shooting into my veins at the time, but she made sure I never choked on my own vomit or OD'ed. Made damn sure I didn't get any nasty infections either. Course, she was ah...invested when it came to that, too."

Sam could have sworn he saw Gabriel blush, but he figured it must have been the weed playing tricks on his eyes. "We had a thing," Gabriel continued. "For a while. But you know...people move on. Don't know where she is, now. Probably doing well for herself. She was always smart that way, and stubborn as anything."

He flopped back onto the couch with an audible sigh, hands folded over his belly. "What about you?" he asked.

"Me?" Sam said.

"Yeah, you. You got a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Boyfriend? Whateverfriend?"

"No."

"Have you ever had an insert-your-gender-of-choice-here-friend?"

Sam let out a tiny breath through his nose, half a laugh. "Why are you so interested in my sexual history?"

"Oh come on! I'm just curious."

He rested back against the cushions, sinking into them and sighing as he folded his hands behind his head. "I had my first kiss when I was fourteen. Lost my virginity at seventeen." He shrugged. "To a girl. Since you were wondering."

"Seventeen...not bad, Sammich. I wasn't until nineteen." He propped his feet up on the coffee table. "Not to a girl."

"So you're..."

"Bi? I guess. More like I never really cared what someone's got going on between their legs, you know? I mean, in the end, as long as everyone's happy and satisfied, what does it really matter?"

Sam let out a soft little thoughtful noise and leaned back, letting it sink in. It made a lot of damn sense. "That's kinda deep."

"Ain't it though?" Gabriel said with a grin.

* * *

They sat there munching on pizza and pretzels – and even some surprisingly sweet dried peaches Balthazar had stashed away in his pantry – for what felt like forever. After a while, they slipped into a comfortable silence, just lying there, listening to the music and enjoying their mellow moods. The joint was down to a stub, and Gabriel let it burn itself out as they watched _Cops_  on Balthazar's flat screen.

During a commercial break, he reached for his guitar case, carefully opening it and pulling Frigga up into his lap. Sam looked over at him, lazily curious, as he started to strum. "You're playing now?"

"You complaining?" Gabriel asked him. "Are you really that invested in finding out what happens to that coke dealer with the fifty cats?"

Sam shook his head and turned the TV off, turning onto his side and folding his knees up so his ridiculously long legs could fit on the couch. He watched with his hand tucked up under his cheek, his eyes half-lidded and his hair brushing down in front of his eyes.

Gabriel toyed with a few chords, his fingers feeling clumsy and too thick for the strings. He closed his eyes and focused as best he could with his mind so hazy. His hands knew what to do even if his brain was having a little trouble getting the cogs going. Sure enough, he managed to get them cooperate, and he smiled to himself as the notes started to come to him, familiar and almost friendly.

The words came almost before he realized they were still there in his memory: "You can run on for a long time, run on for a long time, run on for a long time. Sooner or later, God'll cut you down. Sooner or later God'll cut you down..."

He almost forgot that Sam was there. For a moment or two he wasn't on Balthazar's couch, across from a something-teen runaway who was riding the low tide of a good hit of the green. He damn near felt a hot desert breeze against his hands as he played, almost without thinking. If he started thinking, he'd lose the chords. His mind was still too mellow to keep up with his hands, but that was alright; they knew where to go on their own anyway.

It was his escape, from life, from everything, driving out to some secluded spot and leaning against the hood of his car, strumming his guitar, not thinking about where he'd sleep that night or where he'd stop for his next meal – or whether he'd stop at all. Just playing, and smoking, and not bothering to remember what had gotten him there.

"Well you may throw your rock and hide your hand, workin' in the dark against your fellow man, but as sure as God made black and white, what's done in the dark will be brought to the light-"

His brain got in the way of things before he could get any further, as it did a lot of the time, to be honest, and he hit a bad chord and grimaced. Sam was staring at him, he realized, in what seemed to be awe. "I didn't think you could sing that well," he told him.

"I was singing? Shit. Didn't even realize." He chuckled to fight back a wave of embarrassment. "Sorry to subject you to that."

"No, it was good."

"You think so?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

Gabriel swore he almost felt flattered. "Thanks, kiddo. I guess. But don't expect it to be a regular thing. I don't give performances for just anyone. And you probably won't think I'm half as good when you're not stoned."

"Maybe," Sam said, laughing to himself and tucking his arm under his head, using it as a makeshift pillow.

"Tired?" Sleepily, Sam nodded. It was downright adorable, dammit. "C'mon." He hauled himself off the couch and went over to the kid, tugging him up. "I want to get some sleep too. Go get yourself tucked in."

* * *

"Get behind me!"

"Don't say a word, Sam. Just stay behind me. Don't move."

"You won't hurt my son. Whatever happens, you don't hurt my son, you understand me?"

"It's alright, Sam. Just stay behind me. Don't say a word. Don't-"

"Dad! _Dad!_ "

The bed was too hot, too tight, constricting him too much for him to breathe when he shot upright, shouts and deafening, sharp shots echoing and ringing in his head. He was crying, he knew he was. He could feel his eyes burning, feel the salt drying on his cheeks, and he threw off the sheets and stumbled to the bathroom.

His hands were clean where moments ago they'd been covered in red, warm blood. He could still feel it there, sticky and hot, so much of it pouring over his skin. No matter how much water he let flow over them, it was still there when he closed his eyes, still making his shirt stick to his chest.

He pulled it off, tugged off his pants and underwear and turned on the shower, not waiting for it to warm up before he got in. He washed off the sweat and the tears and leaned against the wall until he could breathe normally again.

"Dad wouldn't like you crying this much," he told himself as he let the water wash his hair into his face. "Dad isn't here to tell me to stop," he replied.

His head stopped spinning after a while, like it always did. Nightmares never stuck around for long, even the choking, bloody, terrifying ones. He crammed the memories back down into the dark parts of his psyche until the cries and shouts and the thumping of his blood in his ears weren't so loud.

He stepped out of the shower and stood there, naked, leaning against the sink and breathing in deep, letting the air out in counts of five and bringing it in again. Five in, five out. Once again. Twice. Three times. When he looked at himself again, hair messy and wet and dripping, the nightmare was fading, the fear waning. The only things left that were as vivid as the day he'd first seen them were the eyes – the gleaming yellow eyes.

But those never faded. The feeling of his father's blood seeping into his shirt and his knees scraping against pavement were a distant, scabbed-over memory, but those eyes always stayed with him. He was learning to live with it. Some days it was almost bearable.

He wanted someone to sit with him. He wanted to lean against someone's body and have them tell him that it was all going to be okay. But he didn't have anyone to do that now. Dean was far away, back in Kansas, and he probably wouldn't want anything to do with him anyway if he didn't do what everyone seemed to be expected of him. Bobby would probably be the same. The thought of them turning their backs on him made him feel like a bullet was ripping its way between his ribs, but he breathed deep and pushed against the pain. He could endure pain.

His thoughts wandered to Gabriel, still sleeping downstairs. There was something there, deep in his gut, something that stirred when he thought of him. But it wasn't anything that he could act on, so he tamped it back down. So what if Gabriel felt like the only person he'd met in so long that might actually understand what he was feeling? God, he craved that, craved someone who really _understood,_  and didn't just offer pity or condolences.

He didn't need words of comfort. He needed someone who would look him in the eye and tell him that it was possible to come out the other side of this.

Then, suddenly, there he was, standing in the doorway and staring at him.

And Sam was still naked.

"Shit!" Gabriel cried, stumbling back and clumsily covering his eyes even before Sam had realized what was going on and could try to cover himself. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't realize you were- It was dark and I- Fuck, sorry!"

The door slammed closed, and Sam stood there, blinking in the darkness with one hand half-covering his junk and the other reaching for a towel that wasn't even on the rack beside him.

He got one out of the cabinet by the tub and dried off enough to slip back into his clothes, and when he came out of the bathroom, Gabriel was still standing there in the hallway, fingers massaging his temple. "You could've knocked," he said.

"I was half asleep. I didn't think you'd be showering at two in the morning." Gabriel let out a soft sigh, sounding miles more embarrassed than annoyed. "The downstairs bathroom is out of commission and I chugged like two and a half Pepsi's before bed. Can I just-"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." Sam shuffled aside, letting Gabriel slip past him in the bathroom, and when he'd closed the door, he went back to the guest bedroom, lying down in the bed and trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

He closed his eyes, felt himself starting to drift off, and maybe he half-slept a few minutes before waking again, just in time to hear the door creak open. Feet padded across the hardwood floor. The bed dipped.

"Sam."

He sat up, staring at Gabriel's silhouette, so close he could smell the remnants of the pot on his breath.

"I shouldn't be...fuck, I shouldn't be doing this," he said.

"Doing what?" Sam asked, but Gabriel didn't even seem to hear him.

"Just...tell me to get lost. I will, Sam. I swear to God or whoever the hell you want me to swear to that I will. I'll go back downstairs. I'll never mention it again. I'll drop you off wherever you want and you'll never see me again."

"Why would I?"

Gabriel stared at him a moment, and then his hand was on Sam's leg, on his thigh, inching up. "I'll stop. I swear I will. Should I stop, Sam? I should stop, shouldn't I? Do you want me to stop?"

Sam shook his head.

Gabriel sounded almost pleading as he said, "God, I want to kiss you, Sam."

He hadn't even realized that he'd been waiting to hear that until the words were hanging there between them in the dark, and he leaned in and took him up on it. Gabriel mewled against his mouth, like he was in pain, his fingers digging into the flesh of Sam's arms.

Before he even had a chance to wonder how the hell it had happened, they were horizontal, Gabriel a solid weight on top of him and kissing him for all he was worth, and God did it ever feel amazing. He'd never kissed someone so desperately, never had them kiss him back like he was the only thing in the world.

His hands were wandering up under Gabriel's shirt, sliding across the skin of his back and forcing the fabric to bunch up under his arms until Gabriel finally grabbed the hem and tugged it off. Sam touched every inch of him that he could reach, from the sparse hair over his sternum to his soft stomach. Gabriel pulled away from that, just a bit, and when Sam caught a glimpse of his face in the light streaming in through the window, he could have sworn he looked almost embarrassed.

"Damn diner food," was all he said, with a breathy chuckle, and Sam flipped him onto his back, the bed squeaking indignantly as he did. He leaned down, pressed his lips to Gabriel's stomach, just above his belly button, and kissed him all across his middle. Gabriel let out the tiniest sound, almost a moan, but more of a gasping yelp, his fingers tangling in Sam's hair.

It was all happening so fast, like he was driving a car at a hundred miles per hour, but he didn't want to touch the brake. He was hot and breathless and flushed in the face, but Gabriel felt so good under his mouth that he couldn't get enough of it. He planted his hands on Gabriel's hips and tugged him closer, dragging his thumbs across his skin in soothing little circles every time he let out a mewling little gasp above him.

"Sam...get up here..." Sam only paused a moment, to glance up at him, and Gabriel's hips gave a needy little jerk against his belly. "Will you just-"

He moved and covered Gabriel's mouth with his own before that sentence could get any further, and Gabriel spread his legs apart wider, letting Sam settle between them. His hands caught on the edge of Sam's shirt, the continued down his back, tucking under the elastic of his sweat pants and kneading the flesh there.

It was too good for Sam to resist the urge to rock his hips against Gabriel's, and both of them groaned when he did. They fell into a rhythm in just moments, rutting against each other like horny teenagers in the dark, lips landing on any bit of skin they happened to find, their noses bumping clumsily as their hands grasped at sheets and limbs and air.

It ended almost as suddenly as it had started. Gabriel was mewling and wiggling under him, his hips moving in a frantic non-rhythm, and then, with a shout, he was coming, fingernails digging into Sam's shoulders and his head thrown back against the pillow. Sam could feel a spot of warmth against his hip where Gabriel had been pressing against him before, but he was going soft under him now, his entire body seeming to melt into the mattress even as Sam chased his own orgasm. It was so close, just barely within reach, inching up his legs.

His face was pressed against the pillow beside Gabriel's head, his breath coming in ragged, needy gasps, but Gabriel had gone quiet, the warmth of his body dispersing. Sam opened his eyes, blinked away a groggy haze of sleep just as the sun peeked through his window, and drew his pillow closer.

His hips were still moving, but almost entirely on their own now, stubbornly humping the bunched up blanket between his legs. The dream receded so quickly that he could feel his orgasm slipping away, and he groaned.

It was pathetic, lying there alone, rutting against his sheets. He almost didn't want to finish, but his belly ached and he was still stiff in his pants, so he reached under the elastic and gave himself a few quick strokes until he came with a muffled groan.

* * *

Gabriel barely slept after he hauled himself back to bed. The guilt gnawing at his insides was bad enough, but if it had just been that, he could have handled it just fine. He'd handled plenty of guilt in his time, so it was nothing new to him. But he just couldn't stop thinking about Sam. And they weren't just innocent passing thoughts, either.

His brain was so far in the gutter he was finding leaves from last Fall.

He'd stood there in the bathroom, trying to decide if he felt more awful for walking in on Sam like that, or for thinking about how damn amazing he looked naked. He'd only caught a glimpse, and he hadn't exactly stopped to take in the sights, but that didn't mean he hadn't noticed his lean, toned stomach, or his damn frustratingly muscular thighs, or – baby Jesus help him – that fucking _python_  between his legs.

It had been an honest mistake, and more than anything, he hoped Sam wouldn't think it was anything else. How was he supposed to know that the guy felt like showering in the wee hours of the morning, in the dark? He'd been half asleep when he'd wandered upstairs to take a piss, grumbling curses at Balthazar for letting his downstairs bathroom go out of commission.

After he'd slammed the bathroom door shut again, he'd seriously considered letting his shame get the best of him and just going back downstairs and peeing in the kitchen sink, but he'd stayed there anyway. And when Sam had slunk off to the guest room and he'd taken his damn piss, he'd sat there on the lip of the tub, pouring every ounce of self-control he had into not letting the throbbing heat between his legs get the best of him.

But his imagination had still been in that half-asleep state of hyperactivity, and he hadn't had any action from even his own hand in almost a week, and he couldn't stop thinking about what it would feel like to have Sam on top of him, hips rolling against his. So in the end, his horniness had won out against his conscience, and he'd jerked himself to an infuriatingly _awesome_  climax in an equally infuriatingly short time.

And now he was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a text from Balthazar that claimed he was _never_  doing tequila body shots off a Columbian man's stomach _ever_  again – it was bullshit if ever Gabriel had heard it – and trying to get his headache to go away. So far it was a losing battle. And the sound of feet padding down the stairs didn't exactly make matters better.

Sam came around the corner looking like a wreck. He seemed like he'd barely slept too, and somehow it made Gabriel even more unsettled. There was no way Sam had let him walking in on him like that get to him too badly, was there? And he certainly couldn't know about Gabriel jerking off to thoughts of him.

"You look like shit," Gabriel said, to break the tension. It didn't work.

Sam shrugged and leaned against the door. "Are we heading out again today?"

So he wasn't in a talkative mood. That couldn't be a good sign. Somehow, Gabriel felt a stab of disappointment. As corny as it sounded, he felt like they'd bonded somehow. Maybe he'd been too optimistic. Either way, whatever progress they'd made in getting through Sam's heavy shell seemed to have disintegrated.

Gabriel hid his frown and went to the living room, grabbing an old, creased road map from his bag and laying it out on the coffee table. The tiny stub that was all that remained of the joint from the night before was cold in the ashtray, and he pushed it aside to make room as he traced his finger up the line that marked their route. "Route 17 goes up this way, toward Utah."

"You mentioned Cedar City," Sam said, sitting on the couch with his legs pressed tight together. After a beat, he added, "And California."

"It's a tentative plan," Gabriel told him. He paused, smoothing the map under his hands. "Did you...still want to tag along?"

Sam was silent for so long that Gabriel had to fight the urge to fidget. Finally, he answered, "Yeah. Why not? I've never been to Utah."

Gabriel didn't want to bring it up, but the damn elephant in the room was breathing down his neck so heavily that it was making him sweat. "Look," he forced out. "Sam...last night-"

"It's fine," Sam said, curtly.

"Fine." So they were going to let it drop. So be it. If that was how it was going to go, then who was he to try and force an awkward conversation? He folded the map again, standing up. "I was thinking we could head out as soon as possible. You might as well do a load of laundry before we leave. Balthazar wouldn't mind you commandeering his washing machine, and I bet it'd be nice to have some clean clothes."

"Probably." He got up and headed toward the stairs, and Gabriel was hoping that he'd take the opportunity to clean his grody jeans. Not that the kid stank to high Heaven or anything, but when he was going to be spending a long time with him in the car, he preferred to have someone who at least didn't have the smell of dried sweat clinging to their shirt.

But just as he was about to go back to the kitchen to see if he could scrounge up something to make sandwiches for the road, Sam paused at the foot of the stairs. "Is this all you do?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"This." He gestured around the house. "Sleeping on peoples' couches and staying in motels. Is this...all you do?"

Gabriel smiled at him, but it didn't feel like a smile. "That's the life, kiddo."

"But all that stuff you talked about...like Kali...Did you ever try to find her again?"

"No point," Gabriel said, leaning against the counter and tapping his fingers against the granite. "She's off doing her own thing, God knows where. Besides, as much as I..." He paused, his words tripping up on his tongue. They twisted and knotted up tight, until they felt all wrong. "...cared about her, that wasn't exactly a high point in my life, you know?"

Sam looked morose, turning away. "Yeah..." he said. He turned to go up the stairs. "Don't worry about last night. It's nothing."

Gabriel watched him go, contemplating whether or not he should say something. Part of him didn't want to bother; they'd be parting ways before too long regardless, so whatever problems Sam was having, he would have to find some way to sort through them on his own. But another part...and surprisingly enough, a larger part, just couldn't stop seeing something achingly familiar in those hunched shoulders as Sam hauled himself up the steps.

So he took a breath, and said, "I heard you screaming."

Sam paused, stiffened, and turned around to glance at him. "Last night," Gabriel added. "Before the whole bathroom thing. Didn't say anything cause Mary Jane can give me some fucked up dreams sometimes, too, but...I don't think it was the pot, was it?"

He expected Sam to tell him to drop it, to turn and go without letting him pry any deeper into his armor. But instead, he murmured, "I dream about my dad sometimes."

"Sometimes meaning almost every damn night?" Gabriel asked him.

After a long silence, Sam replied, "Yeah."

He stood there on the steps, not making any move up or down them, so Gabriel took a step toward him instead. True to form, the kid didn't back away from him as he leaned on the railing. "You know, I have dreams about my brothers sometimes too."

They stared at each other for so long that Gabriel could have sworn they were having a moment, and after it had passed, he turned and hopped off the step. "Balth won't be back for a while, so there's no hurry, but I'd like to be gone before he can yell at me for getting the stench of pot in his carpet."

"You don't want to say goodbye?" Sam asked him.

"Nah. Me and Balthazar...we have the kind of friendship where we really don't need to. I blow in, crash on his couch, and I'm gone the next day. It's cleaner that way, you know?" Sam nodded, in understanding, it seemed, but he just looked almost sad. "You still in?"

"Still in."

Gabriel wanted to smile, but it wouldn't quite come. "Get your stuff then. I'll raid Balthazar's pantry before we leave. Lord knows, he practically shops for a family of four and he's hardly ever around himself."

* * *

They didn't wind up getting on the road until nearly one o'clock. For the first twenty minutes of the drive, they didn't talk, and even with the music offsetting the silence – it was some little-known indie band that he had never heard of – Sam was fighting the urge to fidget in his seat. Every time he looked over at Gabriel, it seemed like he could sense it, and he'd glance right back at him, gold glinting in his eyes. It was downright unsettling.

It wasn't like Sam was all that embarrassed about him walking into the bathroom and seeing him naked. Sure, maybe he was a bit, but there were worse things. He tried to keep it in perspective. What was eating at him more was the fact that he'd dreamed of fucking the guy right after. Who the hell even _thought_  about that? Maybe he couldn't exactly help it, but now every time he thought back on it, his stomach flipped. And not from embarrassment or shame or even arousal.

He was dangerously close to having a crush on him. And that was just nine different levels of fucked up.

He wasn't gay. But he wasn't exactly straight either. Health class had always taught him that people were one or the other, or some were both, though that was up for discussion. And for a few months, he'd silently freaked out as he'd tried to figure out how the hell he could have a girlfriend and at the same time feel a little jolt to his pulse when he brushed hands with his male lab partner in chemistry class.

He hadn't even heard of the Kinsey scale until his junior year of high school, and when he'd been introduced to the concept of this sort of thing existing on a spectrum, he'd wanted to slap himself in the face for being so worried about his own preferences. When it came right down to it, he just didn't care, and from that point on, he'd ditched the labels and worried about more important things, like getting into college.

But this was different. This wasn't a gay panic or the icky feeling in the pit of his stomach from having feelings for someone who would never like him back in the same way. It had to be some fucked up psychological condition, having this kind of thing come on so strong for the guy who had given him food and shelter these past few days. Maybe not quite Stockholm syndrome – after all, according to Gabriel, he was free to get out at any stop he wanted – but it couldn't be healthy.

"Will you stop?" Gabriel asked, and it took Sam a solid ten seconds to realize he was speaking to him.

"Stop what?"

"Stop...thinking."

For a horrifying second, he thought he'd been saying all this out loud to himself. "What do you mean?"

"I can practically smell the wood burning, kiddo. It's stinking up the car. If there's something on your mind, either tell me or roll down a window."

All Sam could think of to say was a mumbled, "Sorry." He tried to stop thinking so hard, tried to focus on the double-banded yellow line on the road disappearing under the hood.

What if Gabriel caught on? What if he somehow figured out that his passenger was fighting a serious hard-on for him? Not like he would try anything unsavory, but he definitely wouldn't want to drive with him anymore. Sam would be stuck in whatever town in Utah or wherever-the-fuck-else they happened to be with no choice but to find another ride. Not that it was the worst thing in the world, but he'd gotten used to Gabriel over these past few days. Gabriel seemed to understand him in a way that nobody else had in weeks. Maybe Sam was just imagining it, clinging onto the only person he could and forcing himself to see exactly what he wanted to see.

Still, it felt good to have someone tell him that they understood how it felt to run from home, to feel like he couldn't go back. It felt even better to feel like Gabriel meant it.

"Why did your dad leave?" Sam found himself asking, and for a moment, he worried that he'd offended him or struck a nerve, until Gabriel snorted out a laugh.

"Geez, where did that come from?"

"I'm curious. I get if you don't want to-"

"Please, it's ancient history." He kept his eyes on the road as he spoke. "You'd have to ask him. I never found out. I was little. Like four or five, maybe. He just...up and left. I never knew if it was an affair, or a drinking problem, or if he just didn't want to be a dad anymore. But one day he was gone, and we had to get along without him."

"How did that go?"

"If it had gone well, do you think I'd be here?" Gabriel's tone was bitter, and it made his half-smile seem harsh.

"But he's alive," Sam offered.

Gabriel shrugged. "As far as I know, yeah."

"That's...something, at least. You could still find him if you wanted to."

"Who says I do?" Gabriel's knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, and Sam felt almost like he'd been punched in the stomach when he said, "You know, your tragedy isn't any worse than mine just because it involves a death."

For a solid five seconds, he couldn't even speak. Finally, he managed to choke out, "I...I wasn't-"

"I know it's not what you meant. I'm not offended, Sam, but it's true. There are people out there, not necessarily me, whose stories are a hell of a lot sadder than yours. That doesn't mean that you should just shake this off and go on like it never happened, but...Sam, there's a lesson here."

"What lesson?" Sam managed to ask after a few seconds of horrendously uncomfortable silence.

Gabriel glanced over at him, and Sam got the feeling that if he hadn't been driving, he would have stared him down until he could barely breathe. "I'm not saying you don't have a right to feel like shit about what happened. Of course you do. You have a right to feel like shit over a disappointing breakfast. What I'm trying to tell you is that people can make it through a hell of a lot worse."

He paused a moment before adding, "And so can you."

The silence that followed was broken only by the drag of tires across pavement, and it stretched on for ages. Finally, Gabriel sighed, so heavily that Sam thought it would leave him completely deflated. "Sorry. I didn't mean to...Shit-" He ran a hand through his unruly hair and scratched at the beard that was starting to grow in along his jaw. "It's a sore subject, alright? You get that."

"Yeah."

"Look, I gotta...I gotta pull over next chance and get gas. And probably call Balth and make sure he didn't fall asleep in a ditch on his way home or something."

Sam just nodded, a heavy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach and making him want to squirm in his seat.

* * *

Fuck.

Why the hell had he gone and said that? What was wrong with him? He'd gone and lost his cool – at the start of a very long car ride, no less – when Sam was just trying to find some common ground between them. It was one weird olive branch, maybe, but looking back now, it sure seemed like that was what it had been. And he'd gone and tossed it straight back into the flood.

_Fuck._

He'd been so sure that he'd royally screwed everything up after the whole bathroom incident, and any hope he'd had left of maybe connecting with the guy on any level past small talk was sure dashed now, even if there had been some before. Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? Sam didn't want to know about his tragic backstory, and he sure didn't want to talk about it himself. Why did he have to keep trying to _relate?_

He glared at the gas nozzle and psychically projected every profanity he could think of at it as he pumped gas into his car. Sam was inside the convenience store, getting snacks for the road. At least Gabriel hoped the guy wasn't going to run off somewhere when he had his back turned. Maybe it would be for the best for both of them if he did.

The pump clicked when the tank was full, and he pulled it out with a sigh. Just as he did, he heard those oversized sneakers scuffing against the pavement.

"I got chips and beef jerky," Sam said. "That okay?"

"Fine, kiddo," Gabriel said, his tone sounding much more forced than he would have liked. He forced a smile. "Take a leak if you need to, cause if you need to piss on the road, you'll have to do it in the sand."

"I'm fine. I did already." Sam rocked on the balls of his feet a moment. It seemed like there was more he wanted to say, something weighing on his mind, like earlier.

Somehow Gabriel knew that he wouldn't say it even when pressed. Not now, anyway. Not when he'd snapped at him like he had earlier. "C'mon," he urged, paying for the gas and getting back into the driver's seat. "I don't like wasting time standing around. Let's get going if there's nothing else you wanna do here."

Sam slipped in beside him without much of a sound, a surprising feat for someone as big and lanky as he was. Gabriel paused a second, just a short little moment as he reached for his keys, and Sam finally spoke: "What you said earlier. Did you mean it?"

Gabriel felt his heart give a nervous little jump. "Gonna have to be more specific, kiddo," he said to the steering wheel.

"You said...that people can make it through worse. That I could..."

He stopped, and Gabriel stared at him, keys in his hand and hovering just next to the ignition. Sam looked different than he had since they'd met. There was a spark of something there, a vulnerability that looked so foreign to him, but so familiar at the same time. He'd never seen it on Sam's face before, not in his eyes; there was always too much of a wall there, and even when it faltered, all that he saw behind it was pain.

It took him a moment to recognize where he'd seen that look before. He'd seen it in the mirror.

Sam carried it differently; there was no anger, no rage, no urge to fight against what he'd been forced to shoulder. It was almost like he was carrying it willingly, like he thought he deserved it, almost like looking at the face of an abused dog. It made Gabriel's heart hurt.

There was something else there too, and it flared like a flame being nursed by a careful breath when he replied, "Yeah. I meant it."

It was hope.

Sam nodded, gave him a ghost of a smile, and said, "Thanks."


	4. Chapter 4

They drove north, through Flagstaff, and not too long after that, they were surrounded again by desert. Some people might have found it unsettling, or intimidating, or let their minds wander over all the ways they could break down and wind up dying out in the middle of the unforgiving sandy expanse. Gabriel thought it was calming. Desert driving was his favorite kind. He had a full tank of gas and snacks and water enough to last for days if they needed it, but he never had. The desert was quiet and calm, and beautiful in its own way. Looking out at it from his air-conditioned little bubble of life was soothing, like watching a wicked blizzard from a dry, warm bed.

The music faded out at the end of the tape, but neither of them bothered putting in another. The silence had been uncomfortable at first, but now, it was almost amicable. Sam occupied himself with staring out the window, eyes tracing the horizon. Somewhere along the road, he glanced at the dash, and Gabriel could see the tiny moment of panic that flashed through him.

"Please tell me your gas gauge is fucking up again," he said. Sure enough, the needle had dropped back down to E. Gabriel gave it a thump, and it zipped back up again. Sam sighed in relief, but tried to hide it.

"Relax, kiddo," Gabriel told him. "I know Alfie here. We share a special bond. Kinda like the Doctor and his TARDIS."

A smile grew on Sam's face, stretching his chapped lips. "Doctor Who?"

"Hell yeah, Doctor Who," Gabriel chuckled. Looks like they found some common ground after all.

"Who's your Doctor then?"

"I've been a fan of Eccleston from the get-go. Let me guess...you a Tennant fan?"

"Pertwee, actually," Sam said.

"Number three, huh? You got good taste."

After that, the miles went by faster. They were making good time, and they pulled off into the parking lot of a rest area just on the far side of the Colorado River. While Gabriel topped off the gas tank, Sam wandered over to the entrance of the foot-bridge that stretched out across the water, staring down at the current as it rushed by.

"Kinda makes you need to take a piss, doesn't it?" Gabriel asked as he sauntered up behind him, and Sam actually laughed, albeit quietly.

"Not really. I was kind of thinking more along the lines of how beautiful it is."

"If you're a fan of rivers, sure." Gabriel sipped his water bottle, and Sam glanced over at him with one eyebrow raised. "Alright, alright, it's pretty. I get it."

"You always this cynical?"

"No more than you are."

Sam frowned, and started walking along the bridge, not trying to get away or end the conversation, but just stretching his legs, it seemed. Gabriel followed at a slow, easy pace, and Sam shoved his hands into his pockets as he followed the guard rail with his eyes. "I'm not cynical."

"Could have fooled me."

"You really think I am?"

Gabriel laughed before he realized the kid seemed almost forlorn about the whole thing. "Well...yeah, Sam. It's not exactly subtle. Hey, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it, really. Some people are just born that way."

They leaned against the railing, staring out at the water. "Maybe cynical isn't the right word," Gabriel offered. "I'd rather think of myself as well-traveled."

"I thought travel was supposed to make you less cynical," Sam offered, and Gabriel shrugged.

"If you do it for the right reasons, yeah."

"And you're not?"

The laugh that punched its way out of Gabriel's throat was bitter and harsh. "Thought we'd established that already, kiddo."

They slipped into another silence that seemed to drag on forever, as people milled about behind them and the river washed by below. Still, strangely enough, it didn't feel uncomfortable. Somehow, Gabriel saw the question coming when Sam finally asked, "Why did you leave?"

They both just kept staring down at the water, arms crossed over the railing. "I told you. My dad left, and my brothers were at each others' throats...I couldn't take it."

"But your dad walked out when you were little, right? You said you didn't leave until you were eighteen. What changed?"

"I was legally an adult for one," Gabriel told him. "I mean it's kind of hard for a five-year-old to make it out there in the world alone don't you think?"

Sam was quiet for a long time before he said, "But there must have been a...a breaking point...something that happened...that you just...couldn't deal with..." It almost sounded like the words physically hurt for him to say, and Gabriel felt his forced grin fading fast.

He crossed his arms, took a breath, and said, "My brother died." Sam's head whipped around as he looked at him, but Gabriel kept his eyes fixed on the horizon. "That was my breaking point. Luke died."

"How did he..." The question faded out before Sam finished it, and it hung there in the air between them. Gabriel chewed on his lip, didn't say a word. If Sam had gotten out the rest of that question, he thought he might have just answered him. That fact alone scared him half to death. There shouldn't have been even the slightest possibility that he would tell this kid the truth about things, and yet here he was, not knowing how things would have gone if he had asked.

But Sam never did ask. The question remained unfinished and the pieces of it dropped down into the rushing water beneath them. So Gabriel straightened up, stretched his back, and said, "If you've seen enough sights, we should get back on the road. It's boiling out here."

He got about three steps away when Sam blurted, "I'm sorry."

"Pardon?"

"About your brother." The kid shrugged. "I'm sorry."

All Gabriel could do was stare at him for a moment, because it made his chest feel tight and his throat ache, and it was just too much damn _emotion_  for him to be feeling on this damn bridge in the middle of the desert. So he turned, croaked out a rough, "Yeah, thanks," and headed back to the car.

* * *

They drove and drove, and soon Sam started to see more and more green outside his window than sandy pale gold. It was a welcome sight, he had to admit. They made a pit-stop in Hurricane, Utah – "Now _that's_  a name," Gabriel said as he pulled off the highway, grinning, " _Hurricane" –_  that dragged on and on longer than either of them had planned.

They stopped for food and lingered in the diner, losing track of time altogether. Neither of them were particularly keen on the idea of getting back in the car after such a long drive, so Gabriel regaled him with stories about the lighter days of his time after leaving home, and Sam found himself smiling more and more as they wore on. Maybe it was Gabriel's wit lifting his mood, or maybe it was just the knowledge that even a sucky situation didn't have to be all bad making him see the bright side. Either way, he was laughing – honestly _laughing_  – by the time they finally left.

They found a gas station and Gabriel filled his gas tank quickly. "That didn't take long," Sam said when he got back in the car.

Gabriel shrugged. "I'm a little short on cash after paying for lunch. Plus,their ATM is busted and I don't use cards if I can help it. I prefer to see the money changing hands myself. S'alright. I got enough to get us there. Cedar City isn't too far."

"Are you sure?"

"I know my car, kiddo," was all Gabriel said, and Sam nodded and let it drop. One thing he'd learned from growing up around Dean was never to doubt a man's trust in his own car.

So they set off again, with the sun dipping below the horizon and the gas gauge needle hovering just half an inch or so above E. Sam looked out the window and let his mind wander, watching the world transition from day to night.

It was oddly relaxing, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon and seeing the stars pop into view. The sky was beautiful here, dark and dotted with points of twinkling light. He wondered what it would be like to just lie out there under the stars and fall into the Milky Way. The more he thought about it, the more clearly he could picture it, him and Gabriel both just relaxing, not saying a word, passing a joint back and forth and watching the universe, feeling small.

He shook his head to chase those thoughts away, glancing over at him and wondering if he could pick up on the fact that he was basically picturing them going on a damn _date_ , but Gabriel was concentrating on the road ahead. Sam's eyes flicked down to the gas gauge.

"It's doing it again," he said.

"What?" Sam nodded at the dash, and for once Gabriel didn't hit it. "Oh."

"Oh?"

The car answered instead of its driver, giving a queasy little lurch and a pathetic wheeze. "Oh," Sam repeated, a little shakily, and the car nudged its way over onto the shoulder before finally sputtering and giving out with a dying rattle.

For a moment they sat there, Gabriel's hands on the wheel and his eyes fixed forward.

"Oh," Gabriel said. "Shit."

* * *

So they were stranded.

It wasn't the worst thing to happen to him, and it certainly wouldn't be the death of them. But that didn't mean Gabriel couldn't wallow in his own embarrassment. "I know my car," was what he had said. How could he be so thick? It hadn't been a lie – he did know his car better than anyone, and he'd honestly thought that it would be enough to get them to Cedar City. It had been stupid pride keeping him from pulling over anywhere else, because they could get there. He knew they could get there.

And what had it gotten him? Nothing but a dead car and a harsh lesson that pride would get you nowhere if you didn't have the gas mileage to back it up. He would have thought he'd have learned that one by now.

It was Sam that had brought out the stubbornness in him, the need to look like he knew what he was doing, that he was in control. Not that it was the kid's fault, of course, but he'd never been a role model before. It felt fucked up on so many levels to say it, but that was what he felt like at the moment, like he was caught up in some twisted Big Brothers/Big Sisters program for a life on the road.

Like somehow, having someone else think that he was in control of things would make him actually start to believe he was. And...it had sort of worked, until now at least. The kid had made him feel steady, confident. It was hard to explain. He saw so much of himself in Sam at times that it felt like he was re-writing his own history, keeping himself from turning down the wrong street. If he could save Sam just an ounce of the shit that he'd gone through himself, maybe it meant that there was still light at the end of the long, winding tunnel for him yet.

It felt selfish when he thought about it, but he was too busy resting his head on the steering wheel and feeling like an idiot to care.

"So...what do we do?" Sam finally asked. Wasn't that just the million-dollar question?

"We wait," Gabriel told him. "Someone will drive by eventually."

Five cars passed them in the next half hour. None of them even slowed.

"Should I go stick my leg out?" Sam quipped, and Gabriel let out a clipped laugh.

"Don't know how much good it would do."

"Guess we can't walk."

"It'll get cold soon. Trust me, as much as it sucks walking in the heat, it sucks just as much walking in the cold. I don't exactly have thermal jackets packed in the back at the moment. I do have blankets, though. So don't worry. We won't freeze."

"You want to...sleep in the car?"

"I've done it before, plenty of times," Gabriel told him. "It's not comfortable, and it'll be even less so with two, but we can manage. I promise I won't get fresh."

"You have a phone," Sam pointed out. "You could call-"

"Call who, genius? The fire department? I don't exactly have the Cedar City tow service on speed dial." Sam shrank back, arms wrapping around his chest, and Gabriel sighed. "Sorry...sorry. Look, it'll be fine. We'll wait it out until morning, then if nobody shows up, we can walk before it gets too hot. It's not far to the next town, or a rest stop at least. It'll be fine."

Sam took a breath. "I know," he said. More than anything, it sounded like the kid was trying to drive the point home himself.

But there was something in Sam's eyes...something that didn't sit right. He was breathing harder than he should, and he couldn't stop fidgeting. Carefully, Gabriel asked, "You alright there kiddo?"

"Fine," Sam managed, sounding anything but. But he just stared out the window, folding his hands and then unfolding them again, trying to occupy himself, and Gabriel figured it was best to leave it be.

Another car approached from behind them, slowed for a moment, then went on. It looked like random acts of kindness were a thing of the past. When the headlights from the tan minivan flashed in his window, Gabriel saw sweat gathering on Sam's temple. He could hear the kid breathing now, and he frowned, leaning forward. Something was very not-okay.

"Sam-" he said, and Sam leaned forward, tangling his fingers in his hair and making a pitiful little moaning sound. Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder, but when Sam flinched away, he pulled back. "Whoa, easy bucko."

"I can't..." Sam rasped. "I c...I can't..."

Gabriel wished he didn't know what he was feeling. He wished that he couldn't recognize what was happening as easily as he did. But he knew all too well, and he got out of the car, darting around to the other side and opening the passenger-side door. Sam flinched away from him, eyes going wide, arms wrapped around his midsection as he struggled to breathe.

"Hey...c'mon, kiddo. C'mon..." Gingerly, he undid Sam's seat belt and reached for him, hand hovering an inch away from his arm. "Let's get you out of this car, Sam. Come on."

Sam barely seemed to realize he was doing it, but he stood up, albeit shakily. This time, when Gabriel put a hand on his arm, Sam didn't pull back. One step at a time, Gabriel led him around to the front of the car, letting him lean back against the hood. Sam's eyes were darting back and forth, like he was desperately looking for something, an escape, a distraction, anything to take him away from where he was.

"Look at me," was all Gabriel said, as firm as he could muster. "Sam, _look at me._ "

In a moment of clarity, Sam did.

"You need to breathe. _Breathe,_  kiddo." Sam let out a strangled sob, and Gabriel squeezed his arm. "Listen to me. You're having a panic attack, Sam. It'll pass, but you need to _breathe._  Don't you pass out on me, you got it?"

Sam took a breath, but it was a rattling, ragged thing, and Gabriel leaned next to him. "That's it, kiddo. Easy as pie, ain't it? Hey...hey, look up, Sam." Sam just looked confused, but Gabriel persisted. "Come on, look up. Just look up for me, huh?" Slowly, the kid did, pushing his head up and gazing at the stars above them. It was a beautiful sight, one Gabriel had almost forgotten was as breathtaking as it really was. He didn't look at the stars anymore; he'd seen them so many times that they'd almost become commonplace. But now he forced a smile up at them.

"Look at that," he said, gently. "Gorgeous, isn't it? No light pollution, no distractions...Just nice and quiet, clear as crystal. Look at that...there's Scorpio. And Sagittarius, Virgo...you ever learn your constellations, Sam?"

Weakly, Sam nodded, and Gabriel took it as a good sign. He was here, coming back. He could hear him. If the sound of his voice was giving Sam something to hang on to, Gabriel wasn't about to go quiet now. "You can see Polaris, right there in Ursa Minor. And next to it...next to it is Cassiopeia. That was always one of Kali's favorites..."

Sam took a breath, and it seemed to come easily. Slowly, he said, "Which one is yours?"

"My favorite?" Sam nodded. Suddenly Gabriel realized the kid was gripping his jacket, squeezing for dear life, his hand shaking around the buttons. "You can't see it from here...but I think it's Cirnicus. The compass." He let out a small laugh. "Kinda makes sense, doesn't it? What about you, kiddo? I bet it's Orion, something tough, right?"

Sam shook his head and choked out, "Cygnus."

"The swan?" A shy nod. "Huh...well, I can't blame you there. Always did like birds myself."

They didn't get back in the car for a good long time. They leaned on the hood and watched the stars. Slowly, Sam's breathing slowed, and he let go of Gabriel's jacket. Neither of them said a word until Gabriel asked, "You good?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed. "Getting there."

"You want to get back in the car?" Sam shook his head. "Water?" He nodded. Gabriel brought him one. It was warm, but it was better than nothing at least. Sam sipped at it gingerly, toying with the cap more than he drank.

The air was cooling around them as they sat there in the dark, watching the horizon, gazing up at the stars and the moon. Night in the desert was eerily quiet, and not a single car passed them for a good fifteen minutes as they waited. "That happen a lot?" Gabriel asked after a while, and Sam shrugged, pressing his arms against his torso and trying to look small. "Don't have to be ashamed of it."

Sam paused a moment, then said, "Not in a while. I thought I was over them..."

"Not exactly something you just get over, you know."

Sam stared down at his water bottle. "How did you know?" he asked. "That it was...how did you know what to do?"

"I didn't. Not really. I mean, I knew what was going on. I can recognize a panic attack when I see one, kiddo."

"How?"

"How do you think?" Gabriel asked him, and Sam went quiet. He sighed. "I didn't know what you needed. It's not the same for everyone. But I figured it was something to do with being stuck in that car, and getting you some air seemed like the best way to keep you from passing out, you know?"

Sam nodded, solemnly. Finally, he mumbled, "Thanks."

"Don't sweat it, kiddo," Gabriel told him. It was best not to dwell on this sort of thing, he figured. "If nobody shows up tonight, I'll head out in the morning to find some help, before it gets too hot. There was a rest stop a few miles back. You can come, if you want. I've got a Walkman, so we can have some tunes while we walk."

Sam scoffed. "A Walkman? Seriously? Are you ever planning to join this decade?"

"Hey, watch the sass, huh? It serves its purpose, so why blow money on something fancy?"

"Cause you don't have to worry about getting sand in an iPod," Sam said. "No moving parts."

"It's a computer chip and a touch screen! How much more delicate can you get? No, I like my tech to be good and robust. Built to last."

"Is that why you own a Nokia?" Sam jibed, and Gabriel elbowed him lightly. It was good to see a smile on the kid's face, at least.

"Stuff it or I'll make you push the car."

* * *

It was almost ten o'clock by the time it got cold enough to drive them back into the car. Gabriel hauled some scratchy blankets from the bed of the truck and curled up in the small back seat. It looked cramped back there, but Gabriel seemed to settle in quickly.

Sam stayed in the front seat, leaning it back as much as he could without squishing Gabriel. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but he'd slept in worse, so it wasn't too bad. The blankets were warm, and it felt good having someone else close. It made the silence more bearable. If he'd been here alone, Sam was pretty sure he would have gone crazy fast.

"You gonna be okay?" Gabriel asked him, gently, and Sam wrapped himself tighter in his blanket and nodded. The panic had passed, at least for now. He just wanted to sleep and forget that he had ever let it get such a firm hold on him.

The first time it had happened, he'd been at the police station, his skin still stained with blood. He'd locked himself in a bathroom stall and sobbed and gasped and puked up his dinner. He'd thought he was going to die. After what had happened, maybe he wasn't supposed to be alive at all. Maybe the universe was correcting for error.

But he hadn't died, not then and not the other three times: the night after when he'd heard Dean punching and screaming into his pillow, at the funeral, with all those eyes staring him down, and when they'd told him what he would have to do...

That one had been the worst. Just the thought of looking at those horrible yellow eyes again made him want to let the panic swallow him up. He'd thought for sure that he would die that time, but like the first and all the rest that had followed, he hadn't.

He never had, and tonight was no exception. He was still alive, just as much as he'd been before.

He sighed and said, "I just wanted to be over them..."

"Hey, I told you, it's not exactly something you just get over, sasquatch."

"Maybe, but..." He covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes. They were dry and stinging from the desert air. "It felt...like I was back there again...back in the car."

He felt his chest getting tight even as he spoke, and he let his words fade into silence again. He didn't want to cry. That was the last thing he wanted. He'd done that enough, and it wouldn't help anything. "Sorry," he forced. "You don't want to hear my sob story."

"Aw, c'mon, kiddo. You think I got something against sob stories?" He settled down against the seat, his blanket pulled up to his chin. "Nah...I've heard plenty. Got a few myself. But I don't really linger on them, you know? It's not all bad."

"Yeah?" Sam asked.

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

"Well...take my brothers for instance. Mike was a dick, but he wasn't always such a big one. Before my dad left, he was the best big brother a guy could ask for. And Luke...Luke used to teach me magic tricks. Taught me the old coin-behind-the-ear trick." He smiled, a bit wistfully, staring out the opposite window. "My dad was great too. What I remember of him, anyway...I never really worked out why he left. Never thought he would. Everything seemed great...till it wasn't." He shrugged. "But that's how life is, I guess."

Sam thought that was the end of it, thought that their conversation was at an end. He was about to close his eyes and try to sleep, when Gabriel spoke again: "I got the same way, you know. After Luke died...I'd wake up screaming sometimes too...Only thing that ever helped was trying to think of the good things instead of the bad. It wasn't always easy...cause it's not something you really forget..."

"Did you..." Sam stopped, because it didn't seem like a question that was anywhere near okay to ask. But Gabriel seemed to know anyway.

"Did I see it happen?" he finished, and Sam nodded mutely. Gabriel didn't bother faking a smile, didn't even try to hide the heaviness in his eyes as he forced out a curt, "Yep."

He didn't know what to do, didn't know how to comfort him. Somehow, knowing that Gabriel had been telling the truth when he'd said that he understood how Sam was feeling should have made him feel better, shouldn't it? But it just made his heart ache.

Finally, he heard Gabriel take a breath. "I was five when my dad left...give or take a year or two. I don't remember it well, you know? You don't remember kindergarten or pre-school except for a few flashes, and even those you can't really be sure aren't just your imagination. But I remember watching his car pull out of the driveway, remember Mike crying..."

Gabriel turned over under his blanket, back against the back of the seat. He stared out the windshield instead of looking at Sam. "Years...all those goddamn years I spent in that house, listening to Michael and Luke fighting. They'd scream at each other over God knows what. It's all kind of blurry, honestly. But I remember one day...it got bad. Really bad."

He pulled his blanket closer, shivering.

"They were shoving each other, throwing punches...I couldn't do anything. Couldn't even move. It all happened so fast...Michael shoved him in the chest, and Luke tripped, and..." His voice broke. Sam felt his heart give a pitiful little lurch.

He could barely hear Gabriel's next words, but they made him feel like someone had poured ice water into the pit of his stomach: "I don't think either one of them even realized the basement door was open."

"Oh, God..." Sam heard himself breathe.

Gabriel let out a bitter half-laugh. "That's what I said." When Sam looked back at him again, Gabriel had his back to him, but he could see him reaching up to wipe his eyes with the corner of his sleeve. "They ruled it an accident. It was true enough anyway...Mike never meant to do it. All it took was one good push."

Sam threw off his blanket, and opened the passenger-side door. Gabriel was asking him what he was doing, where he was going, but Sam didn't answer. He didn't know, really. He just knew he had to do it. He opened the back door, crawling onto the seat, suddenly pressed up against something warm. It was tight fit, the both of them in the back seat like that, but Sam didn't care. He rested his head on Gabriel's chest and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close.

"What're you doing, kiddo?" Gabriel asked.

"It'll be warmer like this," Sam said, not looking up at him. "If that's okay."

"Yeah..." Gabriel managed. "Yeah, it's...it's fine..."

He didn't know how long they lay like that before Gabriel spoke one more time: "You know, I've never...told anyone that. Not even Balthazar. Not even Kali..." He wrapped his arms around Sam in turn, squeezing him gently, holding on. It felt good to have something to hold onto.

They fell asleep like that, somewhere along the way. Sam wasn't sure how long it took for him to drift off, or how long he slept after he did. But he jolted awake to the sound of a hard _knockknockknock_  against the window, and he squinted up as someone shined a flashlight in his eyes.

The figure outside motioned for them to roll down the window, and Sam sat up just as Gabriel stirred. "Meurgh..." Gabriel said.

It took him a moment to get the message, and he fumbled for the door handle, pushing it open. It was only when Sam saw the police officer staring them down that he realized how they looked, with him essentially straddling Gabriel's hips. "Car trouble?" the officer asked, one eyebrow arched.

"Kinda, yeah," Gabriel replied. If he was embarrassed about the way they were situated, he didn't show it. Sam, meanwhile, almost fell over himself getting out of the car. Gabriel sluggishly hauled himself up. "Can you turn that off?" he asked, gesturing to her flashlight.

"Was I interrupting something?" she asked, lowering it, but keeping it on.

"Yeah, my sleep," Gabriel said. He nodded toward the car. "Ran out of gas. Don't suppose you're driving a tow-truck instead of a squad car, huh?"

"Afraid not."

"How far are we from Cedar City?" Sam blurted.

"Not too far," she said. "Closer to Kanarraville, though."

Gabriel moved his lips around the name, looking thoughtful, like it was familiar. Sam had never heard of it. The police officer spoke up again, looking from Sam to Gabriel and back again and moving her flashlight in time with her gaze. "Must've been desperate to fall asleep on the side of the road. Trying to sleep something off?"

"Look, we're both sober. Breathalyze us if you want. We don't have any drugs on us, and neither one of us is a hooker." Gabriel smirked. "I considered it, but I couldn't really pull off a tube-top. One too many Oreos, I guess."

Sam shot him a look, because getting smart with police officers didn't exactly seem like the smartest idea, especially when he probably still had some of that pot stashed somewhere in the car. Being written up for possession of illegal drugs was the last thing Sam needed. But the officer didn't seem upset about it. In fact, she almost seemed to be smiling.

"I'm not planning on writing you up. Either of you. I'll even help you out. It's not exactly safe sleeping on the side of the road, you know."

"Wasn't exactly my first choice," Gabriel told her.

"Tone down the sass and I might just get you to Kanarraville before the sun's up. Mind telling me your names?" Sam squinted as the flashlight turned on him again.

"Sam," he said. "I'm Sam."

"Gabriel," Gabriel added. "You know, like the holy messenger."

"I've heard of him," the officer said. "Wait here. I'll make a call."

She headed back to her car, flashlight in hand, and Sam stepped up next to Gabriel as he ran a hand through his hair. "How much pot do you have again?" he asked him in a hushed tone.

Gabriel jabbed him with one elbow. "Not enough for you to worry about, kiddo. Just zip it."

* * *

As luck would have it, Officer Jody Mills had a good friend up in Kanarraville who happened to drive a tow-truck and sleep on a pretty damn abnormal schedule. It wasn't like they _needed_  a tow-truck, but he showed up in one anyway, toting a gallon in a plastic gas can.

"The doctor is in!" the guy cried as he hopped down from his truck.

"Glad you were still awake, Ash," Jody told him as he handed the can to Gabriel.

"Course I'm awake," Ash scoffed. "The sun ain't up yet."

Jody squinted at the tow-truck. "I told you all he needed was the gas. Did you really have to bring the truck?"

"Do you know how many calls I've gotten in the past week? Zero. Zilch. Nada. She needed to stretch her legs, Jody. She was rusting."

"Sure doesn't look like it to me," Jody said with a smile. The truck was pristine, so well-polished that Gabriel was pretty sure that he could have seen his reflection in it if the light had been better.

"I keep her looking sharp. I'd never let her get dusty. But the boss has got me doing engine work."

"I thought you liked engine work."

Ash shrugged. "It's not too bad, I guess." He turned toward Sam. "Last week, I converted three diesel engines to biofuel." He winked. "Run on corn."

Sam blinked at him. "That's ah...impressive."

"Come on, Ash," Jody urged. "Poor boys are probably beat."

"Ah, that's right." He looked at Gabriel and Sam and back again. "Better places to sleep than the back of a car. Guess it's not too bad, though. Communing with nature and all that-"

"That should get you the rest of the way to Kanarraville at least," Jody interrupted." You can fill up and get to Cedar City in no time."

"Good to hear," Gabriel said. "I'm sick of this highway. Thanks for the gas, officer. And ah..."

"Ash."

"Ash...right. Dig the mullet."

Ash grinned at him, like he'd found a kindred spirit. "Yeah, you got good taste. Business in the front, party in the back, huh?"

Gabriel decided he liked him.

* * *

Jody followed them to the gas station in Kanarraville. Gabriel said nothing as he filled his tank, shoulders hunched in what looked an awful lot like embarrassment. Sam sidled up to him, nudging him in the arm. "Hey."

Gabriel grunted.

"You alright?"

"Fine." He stared down at the gas nozzle for a moment. "Just...pissed at myself."

"Why? Cause you ran out of gas?"

"I told you, I know my car, kiddo. I shouldn't have-"

"Forget it, okay? It could happen to-"

Gabriel held up a finger. "Sure, it could happen to anybody. But I'm not anybody." He sighed. "You...you had a damn panic attack, Sam...all because of this."

Sam shuffled in place. "Yeah, but...that's not your fault."

"Oh yeah? And whose is it then, pray tell?"

He shrugged. "Ultimately...the guy who shot my dad."

Gabriel looked up at him, and Sam wanted to squirm under his gaze. It looked like he wanted to say something, but the words died on his tongue, like he wasn't sure how to phrase it. Instead, he looked over Sam's shoulder at Jody, who was lingering by her squad car near the other gas pump. "Cops make you nervous?" Sam asked with a light laugh.

"Fuck no. If she started searching my car, _then_  I'd be nervous. As it stands, I just want to get to a hotel and get some actual sleep before we feel the need to have any more deep conversations."

Sam's stomach dropped a bit. "Gabriel...what you told me-"

This time, his finger pressed right up against Sam's lips. "Say no more, kiddo. Seriously." His tone softened. "It's fine, okay? Really...I'm just tired and...I can only talk about it so much, you know?"

He pulled his hand away, slowly, still staring at the nozzle. Sam knew all too well what he meant. He was exhausted too, and not just from the couple of hours of sleep he'd gotten in the back of the truck. Gabriel said nothing more, so Sam took to walking in aimless circles to stretch his sore legs, only stopping when Jody came up next to him.

"Sam, right?" she said.

He nodded, reflexively. "Yeah."

"You're young."

A shrug. "Yeah."

She paused a moment, looking him up and down. He felt like it should have made him uncomfortable, being studied by a police officer when he felt like he was practically on the lam. But she didn't seem to be searching him. It was more like she was just curious. "How old are you, Sam?"

He didn't want to lie to a police officer. He really, really didn't. "Why?"

"I'm a police officer," she said, as if to remind him, but then her gaze softened a bit, and she added, "and a mom too."

"There's nothing going on," he told her, nodding toward Gabriel. "If that's what you're asking."

"I never said there was."

"I needed a ride," he continued anyway. "I was stuck out in the middle of nowhere and he..." He trailed off.

Jody smiled at him. "Hitchhiking is illegal, you know," she said, but her tone was almost joking.

Gabriel put the gas nozzle back in its holder, wiping his hands on his jeans and gesturing toward the car. "Ready to go, kiddo?" he asked.

God, yes he was. His back ached like a motherfucker and his eyes were dry and felt too heavy for their sockets. "Yeah. Thanks for the help, Officer Mills."

"It's my job isn't it?" she said. "I keep waiting for a superhero to come do it for me so I can retire early, but until then...patrolling it is." She headed back to her squad car, giving Sam a lingering look as she went. "Take care, both of you."

Gabriel gave her a halfhearted salute. "Thank God for the boys in blue, huh? Or...ladies in blue, as the case may be. C'mon, Sam. Let's catch some real shut-eye."

* * *

They found a motel – a cheap, run-down place just a few blocks from the gas station – and ignored the side-glance the calloused woman behind the counter gave the two of them as he paid and got the keys. She puffed on her cigarette and pulled a pen from behind her ear for his signature, looking Sam up and down from just behind an outdated copy of _Vogue._  For all she knew, they were checking in for a little barely-legal bump-and-grind. Let her think that, if she wanted. Gabriel was too tired to care and way too tired to argue.

He was getting sick of it, though, of the weird looks and raised eyebrows. How many people actually suspected something less than savory was going on between him and Sam, he couldn't say. It wasn't like Gabriel looked ludicrously old or Sam uncomfortably young. But the age difference wasn't enough for father and son, and the resemblance wasn't close enough for brothers or even cousins. Gabriel was hard and worn from years on the road, and Sam had the look of someone who maybe hadn't lived the most comfortable life in the world, but was at least used to a roof over his head and warm food on a regular basis.

And maybe people weren't just assuming the worst. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But he was tired of trying to filter out what he thought people were saying behind their backs.

More than that, he was tired of running. He'd been doing it for most of his life, but now, with Sam...it made him hyper-aware of just how hard it could be to stop while you still had the chance.

"I gotta call my brother," Sam suddenly said, just as Gabriel was kicking off his shoes and getting ready to collapse back against the lumpy mattress.

"Now?" he asked. "It's almost three in the morning, Sam."

"I know, but I need to. I'll go outside. Can I use your phone?"

With a huff, Gabriel stood up again and slipped his shoes back on. He reached into his bag and pulled out his phone. It had a little battery juice left at least, enough for Sam's call. He'd charge it before he went to sleep. "Here. You stay. I'll go." He tossed it to Sam and headed for the door. "Wanna get a soda from the vending machine anyway."

He left Sam to his family shit and locked the door behind him, heading down the walkway with one hand skimming along the railing as he went. It was quiet, out here in this little half-mile-square town. Almost peaceful. Over the tops of the trees, the moon was hanging low in the sky, hazy and bright. It was still cool out, and a lazy breeze pushed his messy hair from his face.

How long could he keep doing this? How long could he keep shepherding Sam farther and farther away from his problems? A dead dad...a murdered dad, no less...that was some dark, heavy stuff. The stuff of nightmares and Lifetime movies, really. But hardly worth throwing a life away over. He couldn't be the kid's mentor forever. Eventually, one way or another, they'd have to part ways, and Sam would be left to his own devices. After that...Gabriel had no way of knowing whether he'd stumble down the same path as him. The thought made his stomach clench uneasily.

He couldn't fix the kid. He wasn't his guardian angel.

Sighing, he stomped down the concrete steps, heading for the vending machine outside the front office. The only thing in stock was lime diet coke, and it was room temperature at best. Not exactly seventy-five cents well-spent, he figured as he made his way back up the stairs, but he'd spent more on worse.

He pulled at the tab and leaned on the railing at the top of the stairs, sipping half-heartedly and wishing he'd kept his change instead. Through the old blinds, he could see a faint light on in their motel room, but he couldn't make out Sam from here. All he wanted was to collapse in bed and get some sleep on a real mattress, no matter how bad for his back it was, but he didn't exactly want to interrupt whatever family problems Sam might have been dealing with inside.

He jumped when something hard slammed against the window from inside, and he left his coke on the corner of the railing as he went to unlock the door and stumbled in. "What the hell was that?"

Sam didn't say anything. He was slumped on the bed, head hanging low. Gabriel looked down at his feet, where his phone was resting on the mauve carpet. "I think I busted it," Sam said morosely. Gabriel bent down and picked it up.

"Nah," he said. "You can't break this thing, sasquatch. Trust me, I've tried."

He turned it over in his hands, over and over. Sam didn't move, so Gabriel went to him, sitting on the corner of the bed next to him. "Brother?"

Sam nodded.

"He make you throw a lot of phones?"

The kid let out a breath. It might have been an aborted laugh, or it might have been half a sob. Gabriel just couldn't tell. "We've had our share of screaming matches," he said.

"Didn't hear any screaming."

"There wasn't any." Finally, he straightened up, ran a hand through his hair and pushed it from his face. "He just...told me he was done...told me he couldn't do this anymore...waiting for me to call from one state or another..." He sighed, deeply. "Said he didn't want to be the one who gets a call if I wind up dead in a ditch somewhere."

"Well it can't be easy on him, you know," Gabriel ventured. It was the wrong thing to say.

"Maybe not, but...but it's not easy on me! He's not the one who had to watch our dad get shot-" He stopped short, like the words had felt like a slap in the face on their way out.

Gabriel paused. What he was about to say would either get through to him or make him close up altogether. "He still lost him, though. And his little brother to boot..."

Sam huffed. Apparently, it was the latter outcome this time. He tugged the covers away from where they'd been tucked under the pillows and crawled under them, curling up tight. "I'm tired," he said to the wall.

"Me too..." Gabriel sighed. He stood and went to his own bed.

* * *

He didn't sleep. He couldn't.

It wasn't that he felt guilty about ending his conversation with Dean by throwing the phone halfway across the room. That had felt pretty damn good in the moment, to be honest. But he couldn't stop thinking about what his brother had said to him, about how he'd sounded when he'd said it.

"I can't...I can't fucking do this, Sammy...It's too fucking much. I've been trying...trying to get you to come home. I'm fucking sick of worrying about you every damn day. It's fucking exhausting. But I can't do it anymore. Bobby and Ellen and Jo...we're all out of our minds wondering what might happen to you. Why's it so hard for you to just come back, Sammy? What's got you so fucking scared that you won't come home?"

Thinking about it now made his stomach clench and his eyes sting, and he closed them tight as he hugged his pillow close. Dean didn't understand. None of them knew what it felt like every time he thought about those eyes...Just the memory of them was enough to make his heart feel like it was going to launch itself out of his chest and set his hands to shaking. He couldn't take seeing them again in person, right there across from him in the same room. He just couldn't.

Gabriel was quiet. He figured he'd gone to sleep already. It was just as well. They were both exhausted, and they'd probably head out again soon. Gabriel didn't like to settle, he'd said. Didn't like staying in one place too long. Sam didn't get how he managed it, hopping from place to place so fast, living on the road. It was no easy life. But if he slowed down, he might just have time to change his mind and go home. And then there would be no turning back.

That was what scared him the most...the thought that he might get his nerve back just enough to head home, that he'd wind up in that courtroom and freeze the moment he saw those cold yellow eyes. What choice did he have? He wanted to go home, but he couldn't face what was waiting for him there, and if he didn't face it, things would never be the same. They'd never look at him the same way again.

He was in too deep. He'd screwed up too much. Dean wouldn't want to talk to him now. He was cutting the ties to home, and it was the most terrifying thing he'd ever felt. Eventually, he and Gabriel would have to part ways, and where would that leave him? He didn't have any old friends whose couches he could sleep on, no car to drive from state to state. What could he possibly do?

His breathing felt labored, harsh and erratic, and he forced himself to suck in a deep breath, and then another. He couldn't let himself have another panic attack now. He had to sleep.

"You okay there, kiddo?" Gabriel asked him, sounding tired, but not like he'd been asleep at all. Maybe he'd never dozed off.

Sam nodded, mutely, lying without a word.

"Cause if you're not...that's alright too, you know. Hell, I'd kind of expect it."

He just curled himself up tighter under the blankets. He heard Gabriel shift, like he was getting up out of bed. God, he just wanted to close his eyes and drift off. He just wanted this night to be over. But he couldn't. His thoughts were too loud. He needed something to drown them out.

Barely realizing what he was asking, he said, "Do you still have your guitar?"

Gabriel sounded surprised: "Course I do. I always do."

God, it was so ridiculous it was almost embarrassing, but he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Could you...play something, do you think? Anything. I don't care. Just...something."

He expected a jape, some clever retort, but none came. Instead, Gabriel padded across the room, and Sam heard him haul his guitar case onto the bed and open it up without a word. "Any requests?" he asked softly.

Sam shook his head.

It took him a moment, like he was deciding on something to play. After a few beats, he began to tap on the wood under his palm before he strummed out a few chords. Sam recognized it by the time he'd gotten to the familiar chorus, had heard it on the radio a thousand times and had always rolled his eyes and changed the channel. He'd never liked Lana Del Rey. But somehow the song was soothing now, and even if Gabriel wasn't singing, he could recall the words from all those times he'd grudgingly let it play in the background: "Every now and then, the stars align. Boy and girl meet by the great design. Could it be that you and me are the lucky ones?"

Gabriel played softly, not saying a thing, not even humming. Sam felt his eyes getting heavy, almost blessedly so. The tension melted out of his shoulders, his head resting on the cool pillow, his frame uncurling as he fell asleep to the sounds of Gabriel strumming on the opposite bed.

5.

It took them an embarrassingly long time to get to Cedar City. They didn't get up until noon, and by the time they'd both showered and changed, their stomachs were growling. After lunch at a local pizzeria, they got on the road again. It wasn't a long drive by any means, but they didn't get within the city limits until nearly three pm. It almost hurt Gabriel to see what awful time they'd made in getting there.

"We should have been here yesterday," he griped as they drove. "We would've, if not for my fuck-up."

"You gonna stop beating yourself up about that anytime soon?" Sam asked him.

Gabriel huffed. "No."

"Would it help if I told you it really wasn't that bad?"

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"It really wasn't that bad."

"It was still stupid of me."

"Kinda, yeah."

He tried not to laugh. He really did.

"You ever been to Cedar City?" Sam asked him.

"Passed through once, probably," Gabriel said with a shrug. "It's not big. Bigger than Kanarraville, though, and definitely bigger than Logan." They pulled off the highway, onto a city street. Gabriel frowned when they came to a stop at a traffic light. As monotonous as highway driving could get sometimes, that was definitely one thing he didn't miss when he was rolling down a long stretch of road.

He tapped on his steering wheel as they sat there, idling. "Southern Utah University," Sam suddenly said, squinting at something across the intersection. It was a sign, saying just that in raised gold lettering against a stony white background.

"College town," Gabriel said with a smile. "Some of my favorites. You can always find a good burger and cheap beer." He glanced over at Sam. "Wanna drive through campus?"

The wistful little glint that had been playing in the corner of Sam's eye flickered out of view as he raised an eyebrow. "You're not gonna run out of gas, right?"

"Fuck you." His glare lost a lot of its oomph when he was smiling behind it.

"Then sure."

Sam took to staring out the window again as they drove. The campus was quiet, all the students out for the summer, but there was a certain calm charm to it. Gabriel had always thought college campuses were a little loud and busy for his liking a lot of the time, full of teenagers and twenty-somethings jaywalking and cutting corners what felt like inches in front of his bumper. But driving through now, seeing the buildings through the trees, sunlight glinting off their windows and warming their bricks, it was almost soothing. He slowed far below the speed limit so he could take in the sights a bit more.

And Sam...Sam seemed to be enthralled. At first, Gabriel smirked at that – the kid was pretty easily entertained if a couple of nice alumni-funded buildings could win him over so easily – but his smile faded almost as quickly as it had come. Because now...he just looked sad. It was way past wistful. It was almost _longing._

"You planning on college?" Gabriel asked him, hoping he was seeing things. The slow slump of Sam's shoulders and the shake of his head told him he wasn't.

"I was, I guess. I don't know."

"You guess?"

Sam turned to watch as they passed the football stadium. "I was gonna go to Stanford."

Gabriel whistled. "Nothing to sneeze at. What's with the past tense?"

"You know what," Sam told him, picking at his jeans. Damn, he hated how badly his heart was hurting for the kid. If he hadn't known better than to keep his mouth shut, he might have said that Sam's dad dying would have made for one hell of an admissions essay, but he was glad he stayed quiet instead, because replaying that sentence over in his mind just made him wince.

If anyone had told him that seeing his brother murdered would have gotten him a scholarship, he would have punched their lights out.

"Your life didn't die with your dad, you know," he said instead, looking back at the road and at his calloused knuckles bleeding white against the steering wheel. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam turn to look at him, like he was expecting more. But there was no more to say. He could only hope it would sink in.

Whether it did or not, Gabriel never really found out. They drove through the campus without saying much else. As they were waiting at the traffic light to turn out of the university limits, Gabriel said, "I never went to college." It was barely more than an attempt at small talk, but suddenly he had Sam's full attention. He shrugged. "Never planned on it either. Guess I never figured I was really the type?"

"What type?" Sam asked.

"Book smart," Gabriel told him. "Cause there's different kinds of intelligence and all that, yada, yada...But I could never pick a subject and sit down and study it. That was always Michael's thing. Luke and I...we were different." He smiled at the traffic light. "He taught me everything I know. How to talk my way around anybody and anything, how to fix almost anything with enough duct tape and WD-40, how to pull a coin out of someone's ear. Maybe I can't recite Frost, and I can't do algebra to save my life, but I managed not to get myself killed, so that has to count for something."

The silence that followed felt heavy, like his words were lingering in the air without moving the fuck on like they were supposed to. Sam was the one to break it, God bless him for it: "Can you really do that coin trick?"

Gabriel arched an eyebrow and reached over to the passenger's side, pulling a shiny nickle out from behind Sam's ear. "Where do you think I'd be if I couldn't?" he asked, and he flicked it into Sam's waiting palm.

* * *

It was strange, stopping again when they'd barely drive thirty miles that day. After sleeping through the morning and lingering over lunch in Kanarraville, they weren't anywhere near tired when they pulled into the parking lot of a motel in Cedar City, a few blocks away from the S.U.U. campus. "We'll drop our stuff off," Gabriel said. "Then find somewhere half-decent to grab dinner."

They brought what battered excuses for luggage they had into their room, Sam dropping his haphazardly onto the beds; Gabriel chose the one closest to the window and door, claiming it by laying his guitar case on top of the faded blue comforter.

They hadn't talked about what had happened the night before, how Gabriel had played for him until he'd finally fallen asleep, like some strange sort of lullaby. They didn't need to, or maybe they just plain didn't want to bother. Either way, Sam was glad that there wasn't much that needed saying.

He'd had the song stuck in his head since waking up.

Gabriel must have caught him staring at the guitar case, because he arched an eyebrow at him and asked, "Gandering at my lady, kiddo?"

"It's creepy how devoted you are to that guitar," Sam said. "Do you sleep with it too?"

Gabriel just shrugged. "A guitar is like a woman, Sam. You gotta treat her right, gotta make sure you know what you're doing with your hands-"

Sam held up his own hand with a grimace. "Don't finish that thought. I don't want to know what you do with your guitar. And I _definitely_  don't want to know what you do with that car-"

"I'd never defile Alfred like that," Gabriel scoffed.

"So you've _never_  had sex in that car."

Gabriel's silence said enough. Sam could have sworn he saw him blush.

"Dude, _gross._ "

"That car is my life, kiddo. Or where I spend most of it anyway. And there's something romantic about making love out under the stars-"

"Sounds cramped."

"It's _intimate._ "

Sam couldn't quite manage to fight off the mental image of Gabriel passionately making out with his guitar in the back seat of the pickup. "I don't know if that's the word I'd choose."

Gabriel flopped back on his bed, crossing one ankle over the over and folding his arms behind his head as he smirked at him. "Don't tell me you've never tried it."

"I can honestly say I've never had sex in the back of a car."

In his mind, Gabriel's hand trailed up the neck of the guitar, fingers tenderly stroking against the strings. He put a stop to the surreal day-dream before it got any more mind-scaringly strange.

"Don't knock it till you try it, then," Gabriel told him, coolly.

"Why are we even having this conversation?" Sam asked, wrinkling his nose. "I don't need to know about all your secret fetishes."

"It's not a fetish! For your information, I've never _actually_  fucked the guitar."

Sam had already banished that image from his mind, thankfully. But in its place, something else crept up on him. It still involved Gabriel in the back seat of a car, fogged windows and squeaking axles, but instead of the long neck of an old guitar, Gabriel was running his hands along Sam's skin instead-

He pushed that one away twice as quickly, not because it was as disturbing as the thought of Gabriel sleeping with a musical instrument, but because it set butterflies fluttering like crazy in his stomach. He'd thought he'd gotten control of this damn crush, but apparently, it was raging just as much as ever.

It was getting old.

Gabriel hauled himself up off the bed, stretching as he stood. "C'mon, kiddo Let's find some decent grub. Now that I think about it, I could go for for a good burrito or something." He grabbed his keys, spinning the keyring around his index finger. "Sam?"

Sam blinked. _Please say I wasn't staring,_  he thought. He pulled his gaze away. "Yeah. Yeah, sounds good."

* * *

Sam was zoning out again.

He kept catching the kid staring at him, or drifting off in thought altogether. It wasn't like he could blame him; with all the shit swirling around in his brain, it was a wonder it wasn't boiling over 24/7, so he had to give Sam a little credit for that. Still, it was unnerving.

They found a good-looking taco place and grabbed a decent seat by the window. Sam ate, but like he was on auto-pilot, grabbing chips and crunching on them half-heartedly. "You feeling alright there, kiddo?" Gabriel asked him.

"Huh?"

"You. Feeling. Alright." He held his hand an inch or so from his own face, drawing it up and down. "You're zoning out on me."

"Not on purpose."

"People usually don't. Don't get me wrong, sasquatch. I'm not exactly offended. Just...I guess I wanted to make sure you were...ya know."

"M'fine," Sam said, shrugging and sipping on his water. That seemed to be the end of it.

Fine, then. He didn't want to force conversation. A panic attack was probably the last thing Sam wanted to talk about. It wasn't exactly high on Gabriel's list of smalltalk topics either. He reached for a chip.

When his hand brushed against Sam's, the kid yanked it back like he'd touched a hot stove. It was like every bad high school rom-com he'd ever seen on basic cable, and he could have sworn Sam's cheeks turned pink as he stumbled to his feet. "Sorry, uh...I need to...bathroom."

Gabriel didn't have a chance to say anything in reply to the awkward excuse. What the hell was wrong with him? He shook his hand out before curling it into a fist and resting it on the table.

Beating himself up was getting awfully old, so he was almost happy when his phone vibrating in his pocket distracted him from it. Let Sam have his existential crisis or whatever he was having in the bathroom for now.

He didn't recognize the number. Probably just a telemarketer or something. He almost didn't answer; he put the phone to his ear lazily, already halfway to hanging up when he sighed, "Hello?"

"You're not Sam," said the voice on the other end. That definitely wasn't a telemarketer. The voice was as unfamiliar as the number on the caller ID, deep and harsh, like years of forcing it deeper than it naturally wanted to settle had made it rough around the edges.

"No," Gabriel said. "Not exactly."

There was silence on the other end. Gabriel waited for a distracted apology and a hurried end to the call that he was used to having follow a wrong number. But it never came. The voice on the other line just said, "Gabriel?"

He frowned. "Who wants to know?"

"You're the guy that picked up my brother."

He hadn't been expecting that. Pretty much the opposite, actually. He felt those chips turn cold in his stomach as a mixture of anxiety and anger. He remembered Sam's face, his eyes downcast and dry after he'd hurled the phone at the window of the motel back in Kanarraville. Whatever Dean had said to him, whatever Sam hadn't shared, it couldn't have been much better than what the kid had told him.

He couldn't say he blamed the guy. After all, this couldn't be easy on him either. Still, he'd had his fair share of experience with older brothers. Maybe it was a sore spot.

"Dean-o," he said breezily, and he could almost _hear_  the guy bristle.

"Guess Sam told you about me."

"Well we have had plenty of alone time together," Gabriel said. Dean probably would have been having serious trouble resisting the urge to punch him if they'd been speaking in person.

"I swear, if you-"

"Oh, relax. I meant driving. We're in Utah, in case you were wondering. And your brother is fine. Physically, at least. Mentally, he's got some serious demons scratching at the inside of his noggin."

Dean sighed, making static bloom in the receiver. "Yeah, I got that," he said. "I want to talk to him."

"Because your last conversation ended on _such_  good terms, didn't it?"

"Like you have any idea what happened."

"He chucked my phone across the room. That's what happened." Dean was weirdly quiet at that. Apparently, it had taken him by surprise. "Didn't you hear a loud thump? Maybe some cursing?"

"I hung up first," he answered, sullenly.

"Makes sense, I guess. I doubt you're the first guy to ragequit a brotherhood, huh?"

"I didn't quit anything."

"That's not what Sam told me."

"I'm just sick of thinking I could get a call tomorrow to tell me he turned up dead in a ditch somewhere, okay?" Dean spat, and Gabriel could hear the recoil that followed, almost feel Dean shrink away from the receiver for a moment before he added, much softer, "I don't know what else to do to get him to come home, alright? And next thing I know, he's telling me he's running off with some guy who picked him up on the side of the road? What the hell am I supposed to think, huh?"

"I'm not gonna do anything unsavory, if that's what you're worried about," Gabriel said, the words coming out more solemn than he'd planned on.

"Whatever..." Dean sighed. "You don't understand. You don't know what happened. Whatever he's told you-"

"Dad died. Bullet wound, from what I hear. My condolences."

"They caught the guy."

Gabriel blinked.

"They caught him...the bastard...took them long enough. There was so much red tape to go through, it made me sick. I just wanted him to fry. But even that son of a bitch gets a fair trial." He laughed, bitterly. "They want Sammy to testify...but the second they asked, he practically went catatonic. He wouldn't do it. He just wouldn't do it. He has the chance to look that rotten piece of shit of a human being in the eye and give him exactly what he deserves, and he won't-"

"Who are you talking to?"

Sam was standing beside the table, towering over him, as usual. But he looked small, somehow. He looked young, like a scared little kid who couldn't face the monster under his bed. "Your dear brother," Gabriel told him, and suddenly Sam was reaching across him, yanking the phone out of his hand and hanging up. Gabriel sat there, fingers still folded around a phantom phone, staring.

"The hell did you do that for?"

"Why were you talking to him?" Sam asked, sounding frantic. Heads turned in their direction.

"He called me, alright? He was worried." He stood, reaching out to put a hand on Sam's arm. "He told me what happened...the trial...Sam...why don't you testify-"

"I can't!" Sam all but yelled, and people were definitely staring now. Sam was breathing hard, face flushing, hands shaking. Gabriel worried he was on the verge of another panic attack, and that just wasn't something he wanted to deal with right now. He figured Sam probably didn't either. "I can't- I can't look at him again. I just can't do it. Why doesn't anyone understand that I can't do it?"

"Kiddo-"

Sam pushed him off. "Don't call me that!" he spat at him. "Don't call me a kid! For christ's sake, I'm not. You can't treat me like a child and expect me to act like an adult. I'm just doing the only thing I can do." He stumbled backward, nearly knocking over the poor waiter who came to try and handle this meltdown of a situation. "Just...I can't...don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"You're looking at me like...like everyone else..."

It was all he said before he turned, bolting out the door.

* * *

Sam ran.

He ran and he didn't look back. He ran straight out of the restaurant, nearly knocking over two heavyset women getting out of their car in the parking lot. He ran past the old pickup, not giving it a second glance because if he did, he might think twice about running down the sidewalk, and he couldn't have that.

He didn't care if people were staring, or wondering what the hell he was doing, just sprinted down the street with tears blurring his vision. Nobody stopped him. Nobody asked what was the matter. Maybe they were scared that he was insane. Maybe they just didn't want to get involved. Either way, he ran, and ran, and ran.

His legs ached, then burned, then screamed, and finally he couldn't go any further. He collapsed down onto the steps of a public library and chased his breath.

He wondered of Gabriel was coming after him. He didn't know if he wanted it or not. Gabriel had been the only person who hadn't looked at him like something wasn't right in his brain. He was the only one who hadn't seemed to think that there was a simple way out of this, like getting up on that stand was somehow easy.

For the first time in his life, Dean hadn't been able to get anywhere close to comprehending the reality of what was going on in his mind. He'd thought he'd never find anyone who could. And lo and behold, he'd found that exact person on the side of a highway in the middle of the desert.

If the pickup truck pulled around the corner right then, he couldn't possibly run anymore. Maybe that would be better. If he couldn't run away, if the choice wasn't his, maybe it would take some pressure off.

He waited, watching the street.

A white sedan passed him, a silver SUV, a pickup from last year, still shiny and without a single dent. Then came two Jeeps, a smart car, a mail truck and a black minivan.

No Gabriel.

Maybe it was for the best, Sam figured. He couldn't keep running with Gabriel forever, and the further he was from the guy the better – maybe that way this stupid crush of his would fizzle out. But where else could he go?

He didn't want to focus on it, but his mind wandered that way anyway. He'd never even heard of Cedar City, Utah until the other day. He had no money left, and nobody to help him. Briefly, he thought about that cop back in Kanarraville, Jody, but what could she do? Even if he could find his way back to the tiny town on his own, was there really any way she could help? She'd help him get home, if that was what it came to, but anything else was pretty much out of the realm of possibility.

His mind buzzed like a swarm of angry bees, and he held his head in his hands and groaned. Had he really given up any semblance of home over something so stupid? He couldn't change it now. There was no way to undo what had happened.

But he missed Bobby...He missed Jo and Ellen and Cas, and he missed Dean. Despite all the fallout, he still missed his brother. Maybe they'd never be able to go back to the way things were before, but that didn't make him miss Dean any less.

He wondered what would be worse...running forever and possibly never seeing him again, or going home and losing him just the same. Losing everyone.

His thoughts were too loud, too grating. He needed to silence them, if just for a little while. He just needed some relief.

He hauled himself up and walked.

* * *

Gabriel's head spun as he drove back to the motel. Part of him hoped that Sam would have found his way back there, but when he found it empty, the kid's beat up old duffle still resting on the bed, he realized just how ridiculous that hope had been in the first place.

"Shit..." He kicked the side of the bed, despondently, then brought his leg back again. " _Shit!_ " Pain sparked up his toes, and he fell back on his ass on the side of the mattress, clenching his teeth.

It wasn't like he could have known Sam would flip his lid like that. It wasn't like he could have ever predicted that Dean of all people would call him. Still, all things considered, maybe the really strange thing was just how long it had taking Big Bro Winchester to press the call return button. Maybe the guy was just as freaked out and confused as Sam was.

It probably ran in the family.

He'd run after Sam out the door when he'd finally been able to snap out of the hazy stupor he'd gotten caught up in after Sam had bolted. It had taken him so much by surprise that his brain just plain hadn't known how the hell to process for a solid thirty seconds at least. But by the time he realized that Sam was gone, it was already too late – damn those long legs of his; he was too fast for Gabriel to catch when he had all the endurance that could be expected of someone who spent his life behind the wheel of a car and hadn't eaten a truly balanced diet in years.

So he'd gotten in his car and driven. He hadn't known where to go. The kid could have gone anywhere. Maybe he was just hoping that he'd stumble upon him again, like the universe was determined to keep Sam popping up on the side of the road for him.

But he'd found a whole lot of nothing.

What could he do? Sam wasn't his responsibility. Sure, he'd given him a ride, but there hadn't been any terms and conditions. He'd managed to get from Kansas to New Mexico without getting into any real trouble, so he could probably take care of himself alright.

"Right?" he said to himself, like it was an ellipsis and a question mark at the end of his self-assuring thought process.

He was tempted to light up a joint, or maybe look for some bar where he could get away from all this shit, just for a bit. But the idea of drinking to forget just brought up bad memories that alcohol had never managed to drown, and the thought of getting kicked out of his room for filling the vents with pot smoke didn't exactly appeal to him. So he did the next best thing: he took out his guitar.

He strummed, and strummed, and strummed until his fingers were sore. He wasn't really even sure what he was playing anymore, if he was playing anything at all. Occasionally, the tiny flicker of hope that Sam would stumble through the door – shoulders slumped and head down like a sad puppy – glowed in his chest, but just a glance at the door and a long silence was all it took to put it out again. Eventually, it stopped altogether.

It was all wrong. All of it. The more he thought of Sam sleeping at a bus stop somewhere across the state line, the more an uneasy heaviness settled in the pit of his stomach. His mind went further and further down dark paths, pulling up memories of curling up on a flea-infested couch to wait out a bad trip or waking up with a headache next to someone he didn't recognize, of vomiting on the side of the road when the cheap booze didn't go down easy without food in his stomach, or sobbing in a dirty bathroom stall from the pain of the DT's and homesickness.

He felt nauseous. The sharp twang of a sour note stung his fingers.

It was almost nine thirty, and dark outside. He'd barely even felt those hours slip by, but that was nothing new to him. His legs wouldn't stay still, something roiling in the pit of his stomach and forcing him to his feet.

Nobody had ever gone after him. He couldn't go back in time and change that, could spur anyone to action when he was lying at rock-bottom. He wouldn't wish that on anybody, least of all Sam.

The kid wasn't his responsibility. But that didn't make him heartless.

He grabbed his keys and left, leaving Frigga lying beside her case on the cheap motel bed.

* * *

Gabriel had never had a little brother, or younger friends, or kids. He'd never had anyone to look out for, aside from himself. Maybe that was why his heart was pounding so hard as he waited at a red light and impatiently tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. Sam was younger than he was, and new to this life. But that wasn't the end of it.

Sam was like him.

He was scared, and even though he had no idea where he was going next or what things would be like when he got there, he was damn sure that it would be better than whatever was waiting for him back home. And that was something that Gabriel knew all too well himself. It was a prerequisite for a life like his.

So somehow, he felt like he knew where he'd find him. He drove until he found a bar.

The first one he went in was a run-of-the-mill sports bar, and the guy behind the counter was dressed all in red and white stripes and had no idea what Gabriel was talking about when he mentioned the tall, shaggy twentyish-year-old he was searching for. Nobody had anything to tell him in the second or third places he went to either.

It wasn't until he found an old, slightly broken-down place with a scuffed up sign out front that was missing two letters that he had any luck. It was quiet for so late, with a slow folk-sounding song that Gabriel didn't recognize playing in the background. A few heads turned when he wandered in; the pair of heavyset men playing pool back in the corner barely noticed him, they were so engrossed in their game, and the three people sitting at the bar didn't bother turning to look.

The bartender was tall man with a scruffy beard growing in along his jaw. He had a thick torso and muscular arms, and when he spoke, he did so with a lazy Louisiana drawl: "Looking for a little something to keep you cool? Or maybe looking to stay warm?"

Gabriel shrugged and leaned against the scuffed up old bar, tapping his nails against the aged surface. "I'm looking for someone, actually." He glanced at the guy's nametag: Benny, it said.

Benny smiled. "Aren't we all?" he asked. "Wouldn't happen to be a tall kid hurting for a haircut, would it?"

Gabriel practically felt his head spin, he straightened up so fast. "Yeah," he said. "That's exactly who it is. You've seen him?"

"Came through here about an hour and a half ago. Tried to use a fake I.D."

Gabriel frowned. "What did you do about that?" Please don't say he got arrested, Gabriel thought. Going to break the kid out of jail was the last thing on his mind, and God knew he didn't have the money for any sort of bail.

"Didn't call the cops, if that's what you're thinking," Benny said, as if he could read Gabriel's mind. "He didn't make a scene. Just sort of slunk off with his tail between his legs. I know a fake I.D. when I see one. Crowley down the block might let it slide, but I don't serve underage."

"Crowley..." Gabriel mused. "Another bar?"

Benny nodded. "Inferno, down the street a little ways. Crowley tends the bar If your friend was bar-hopping looking for someone who'd serve him, he might've ended up there, but I can't promise anything."

Gabriel mumbled a hurried thanks before turning to leave, but Benny apparently wasn't ready to let the conversation end. "Hey," he said, and Gabriel turned. "You know, I can see why you'd want to be looking for him. He didn't seem happy."

Gabriel stared at the floor, heaviness settling in his gut. "I figured."

"Hope you find him, chief," Benny said, his tone surprisingly kind for a guy as big – and frankly, a little bit scary – as he was. "I see a lot of kids trying to pass off fake I.D.'s, but he didn't seem like any kid, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Gabriel told him after a pause, and Benny nodded him on.

Inferno, huh? Sounded like a sketchy dive if ever Gabriel knew one.

He found it without much difficulty. The place had a huge red neon sign out front with devil horns over the "N" and a pointed devil's tail curling off of the "O." Gabriel squinted at it a moment before heading inside.

It was dark, with heavy, bass-boosted music blasting through the speakers on all sides, making the soles of his shoes vibrate with the beat. The booths were a deep read, seeming to glow in the dim light against the backdrop of black and gray.

And there, slumped against the polished black surface of the bar, was Sam. He could tell from the shaggy hair and the wide-set shoulders. He was dragging his long finger across the rim of something alcoholic, and from the look of him, it was hardly his first.

As Gabriel watched, the man behind the bar approached with a bottle in his hand. He was short and stocky, dressed in a dark suit. It was an odd sort of clothing for a bartender, making him look more like a businessman than anything else. His hairline was receding, but his eyes were sharp, and even in the dim light of the bar, Gabriel could see them gleam. It made him want to squirm as he walked up behind Sam.

"Out of all the bars in this city, this was the one you decided on?" he said. Sam jumped, but he turned sluggishly. The glazed over look in his eye and the flush in his cheeks painted a picture of him that was anything but sober.

"What're you doing here?" Sam slurred.

"Looking for you." Gabriel turned to the bartender – Crowley, he presumed. "Do you card in this place or what?"

Sam shot him a half-hearted glare, but Crowley just sneered. "He had I.D. And it's not really any of your business, is it?"

"Actually, it sort of is," Gabriel told him, icily. "C'mon, kiddo."

Sam shrugged him off. "M'not going anywhere with you."

"Well nobody is forcing you," Gabriel said with a roll of his eyes. "But trust me, when you wake up in the morning with a killer hangover, I'll bet you'd rather do it in your own bed rather than on some random person's couch or lying next to a dumpster."

As drunk as he was, something akin to disgust and fear flashed through Sam's eyes at those words. Gabriel forced himself not to feel bad about it. There was no point in sugar-coating things, and he bet Sam would barely remember this, if he did at all in the morning.

"How are you even paying for this anyway?"

"He opened a tab," Crowley said.

"Seriously, kiddo?" Sam shrugged.

"I needed a drink."

"You _need_  to get your head out of your ass and come with me. I'm not leaving you in this hellhole."

"I resent that," Crowley said cooly. "I run a business here. And if he wants to stay, he gets to stay. Now, you can turn yourself around and walk out nice and easy, or I can have you...shall we say, persuaded?"

Gabriel smirked at that. "I don't scare that easy, pretty boy. But I don't plan on getting dragged out of here or dragging anyone else out. Rather bring him with me while he can still walk." He turned to Sam. "You really wanna sit here and ferment all night?"

"I'm not fermenting."

"You're _marinating_ , kiddo. Can you even stand?"

Sam hauled himself up, shooting Gabriel a harsh look as he did. He wobbled a bit, then stumbled, and Gabriel suddenly found himself saddled with one hundred-something pounds of Sam against his shoulder. "Point," he ground out. "C'mon, let's get you out of here, huh?"

"Fine..." Sam grumbled, apparently too weak in the legs to put up much of a fight. They were turning to go until Crowley cleared his throat, pointedly.

"There's still the small matter of his bill."

"What happened to his tab?" Gabriel asked with an arched brow.

"Not from around here, he told me. And I don't exactly want to entertain the idea of you two running off across state lines and leaving me with an inconsistency in my numbers."

Gabriel rolled his eyes and paid, just to get the ass off his back.

He lugged Sam out to the parking lot, huffing all the way. "Christ, you're heavy," he grunted when the car was finally in his sights. "If I knew I'd have to drag your drunk ass out Dante's favorite dive, I would have done some pull-ups first."

Sam was silent, which didn't exactly settle Gabriel's nerves, but at least the kid wasn't fighting him tooth and nail. He seemed almost deflated, like all the fight had rushed out of him. It might have been the alcohol, but considering the despondent look on his face and everything that had happened before he'd run off to drown his sorrows, Gabriel doubted it was that simple.

"I got it," Sam mumbled when they reached the car, and he shrugged his weight off of Gabriel and stumbled a bit before grabbing the passenger's side door handle. Somehow, he managed to haul himself in and slump down on the seat, face flushed and hair a mess as he stared blearily at the floor.

The drive to the motel went smoothly, at the very least. Sam seemed to be one of those quiet, brooding drunks, and while they were never fun at parties, Gabriel was thankful for it now. He was doubly thankful for the fact that Sam managed not to puke on his dashboard.

He all but carried Sam into the motel room, practically dropping him on the bed like a newborn giraffe, all long, gangly limbs and loose joints. The first thing he did was grab a water bottle from his bag and shove it in Sam's hand.

"Drink," he said. Sam blinked at him. "You'll thank me in the morning."

Without protest, Sam sipped at it. It dribbled down his chin and onto the comforter, but Gabriel could live with that.

"Fake I.D.?" Gabriel crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow as he looked down at him. "Really?"

Sam mumbled, "I'm nineteen, okay? It's close enough."

"Close, but not quite," Gabriel told him.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, sighing, suddenly feeling heavy and sad. The poor guy not only looked hopelessly three sheets to the wind, but it somehow made the guilt and helplessness shine even more brightly in his fogged over eyes. "You don't seem like the type to drown your sorrows," Gabriel said, solemnly.

"M'not," Sam told him a few moments later. "I just...wanted to..." He gestured vaguely around his head, water splashing onto the floor from the still open water bottle. Gabriel took it from him and put it on the bedside table.

"Forget about your brother?" Gabriel offered. "Your dad?"

It took a long time for Sam to nod against the pillow.

Gabriel sighed so deeply he thought he might just collapse under the weight of it, and he stared down at his interwoven fingers. It was eerily like looking in a mirror, and it made him feel equal parts sick and determined not to let it stay that way for long if he could help it. "You remind me of myself, you know," he said, letting out a humorless little laugh. "Way too much, actually. But you know...at least you have the option of going home. You got family who loves you...and who isn't batshit crazy."

Sam buried his face in the pillow and mumbled, "Can't go home..." He rolled onto his stomach and Gabriel found himself rubbing his back, between the shoulder blades.

"Course you can. It's not so far."

He shook his big, shaggy head. "No, I can't...they'll make me see him again..."

"Who?" Gabriel pressed.

The silence stretched on and on until Gabriel thought for a moment that Sam had fallen asleep, but finally he said, "The guy who...killed...my dad..." He turned his head, resting his ear against the pillow and mumbling, "They wanted me to...be a witness..."

"Testify?" Gabriel asked. "At his trial?"

Sam nodded.

"Why don't you?"

God help him, those were tears gathering in Sam's eyes. His voice was a pitiful, broken little thing when he choked out, "I can't..."

"Of course you can. He can't hurt you, Sam."

"I can't _look_  at him," Sam said, gripping the pillow tight and holding it close. "I'm too...scared..."

So that was it.

That was what it all boiled down to. All of this shit...all of this running...all of it was because Sam was scared. And who wouldn't be? To stare down the guy who you'd seen put a bullet in your father's chest, who had forced you to watch him die right after...who the hell wouldn't be scared?

"Our car broke down..." Sam said, softly. "We had to walk...we were just trying to get to the gas station and...he came out of nowhere...I couldn't...I couldn't do anything, and..."

Gabriel's palm rested on Sam's shoulder, and he said, "You did the only thing you could do." Sam turned to look at him. "You got out alive."

Sam stared at the wall.

"Sam..." Gabriel felt like the he had a car weighing him down by the shoulders. There was more that needed saying, but now he didn't even feel like he wanted to say it. "Sam, I can't...do this anymore."

The poor guy looked like he'd been smacked in the face when he looked at him again. "I'll help you. I can promise you that much. I'll help you as much as I can, help you find another ride or...or find someplace to settle somehow. But I can't help you run away from this anymore. I won't stop you, but I can't take you any further."

Sam took a breath, sinking into the pillow again and nodding in understanding, like he was accepting a punishment he knew he deserved. It just made Gabriel's heart hurt even more. "Look, kiddo...if you decide you want to go home...hell, I'll drive you right up to the steps of the courthouse. But no more running. Not with me."

His voice was so small that Gabriel almost didn't hear him when he asked, "Is this because...of how I feel about you?"

He hadn't been expecting that. He furrowed his brow, ignoring the clumsy little leap his heart made in his chest. "How's that?" he asked, carefully.

Sam shrugged. "You know."

He did. And he wasn't sure how to feel about it. He'd have been lying if he'd said he hadn't felt the tiny tug of the same thing toward Sam, but he'd written it off as frustration after a long dry spell. It wasn't the age difference that bothered him; some people might have frowned on the eight-year age gap, but they were both adults here and people could frown all they wanted on their own time. But Sam was...fragile. It almost hurt Gabriel to say it, but it was true. He wasn't in any condition to be hooking up with anybody, let alone an unattached drifter like him. Sam needed stability. He needed someone who would be there when he needed him.

Most of all, he needed someone who could understand – _really_  understand – what he was feeling. And maybe...just maybe, that could be him.

But not now. Not like this.

"That's not why I'm doing this, kiddo."

"Then why are you?"

Gabriel smiled, somehow. It felt all wrong, but it was there nonetheless. "I told you," he said. "You remind me of myself. I'm trying to fix that."

* * *

Sam wasn't sure when he drifted off to sleep, but he knew the moment he woke up. His splitting headache and his upset stomach made sure of that. His mouth tasted like ass, and he groaned before he even opened his eyes, burrowing under the covers and curling into a tight ball to lock out the world.

He was still in yesterday's clothes, but someone had taken his shoes and socks off and set them beside the bed. He blinked at them for a moment before closing his eyes again, squeezing them shut.

"Look who's awake," Gabriel said; Sam heard him walking up beside the bed, and he forced himself to look up at him. "How's the hangover kiddo?"

"Mmmf," Sam said.

The hangover wasn't really the worst thing. He almost wished he'd gotten more drunk, if only so that he wouldn't have been able to remember what had happened after they'd gotten back to the motel. He did remember though, with a startling amount of clarity. Like his brain was trying to smack some sense into him two-fold.

"Sounds about right," Gabriel told him, and he handed him the water bottle from the night before, topped off and cool. "C'mon, the sooner you get some water in you the sooner you'll stop feeling like shit."

Blearily, Sam took it and sipped. His stomach protested, but it stayed down, thankfully. "I'm sorry," he croaked.

"What? For making me come drag your sorry ass out of that creepy bar? Or for paying your tab?" His tone wasn't bitter or unkind. He didn't seem angry or upset, really. Just...disappointed somehow. In some ways, that was worse. "It's fine, Sam."

They sat there in silence, Sam sipping his water and wishing he could reach into his head and turn off whatever it was that was making it pound. Finally, he managed to get out, "What you said...end of the line?"

"I said I wouldn't help you run anymore," Gabriel told him, solemnly. With a sigh, he knelt in front of him. "Sam...there's a lesson here. The more you run away...the farther you go...the more you start to turn out like me."

"You don't seem so bad."

Gabriel smiled, a little sadly. "I turned out okay...but it wasn't easy getting here. And it's never easy staying here. Some days I wish I could just...go home, you know? Wherever that is. Sam, you still have a chance. You haven't lost anything for good. I know it seems like nothing will ever go back to being okay, but it can. I like to think I've gotten to know you pretty damn well over this crazy roadtrip, and Sam...you're miles stronger than you think you are."

Sam wasn't sure what the hell to say to that. He could have shrugged it off, because a stubborn little part of his brain didn't want to believe it. But the rest of him...the rest of him was just plain _tired._  He was tired of running and tired of trying to convince himself that it was the only option. There was no easy path anymore. He'd thought that running away was the coward's way out, that he was taking the easy path where stronger people might have faced the more difficult one. But now he wasn't so sure.

"Did you mean it?" he asked. "You know, when you said you'd take me home?"

Gabriel smiled. "Absolutely."

Sam took a long breath and let it out again. He was so damn tired.

"Take me home."

* * *

They stopped at a rest stop just outside the Kansas state line. It had been a long trip back, and they still had a ways to go. They leaned against the hood of the beat up old pickup, sipping on sodas and staring out at the cars racing by on the road.

"Still good?" Gabriel asked him. Sam nodded. "Good."

It wasn't going to be easy by any means. The thought of stepping into that courtroom still filled him with cold dread. Part of him still wanted to turn tail and run away again. But he was going home. Whatever came after...he would take it as it came. He'd survived plenty. None of it would kill him.

"What would you be doing now if you hadn't picked me up?" Sam asked, suddenly curious.

Gabriel shrugged. "Don't know. When do I ever?"

"What are you going to do after?"

He was quiet for a bit longer this time. "See that...that's a little more complicated."

"How come?"

"I don't know, kiddo...You...kinda made me realize some things, you know? Like how I might not want to do this forever...I mean, I always figured maybe I wouldn't. Maybe the day would come when I'd want to settle down somewhere. Not in the desert, though. I'm sick of all this heat and sand."

"What about Kansas?" Sam found himself asking. Gabriel smiled at him.

"Kansas...maybe. It's nice, I guess."

They sipped their drinks and watched the traffic.

"You know...I was drunk when I told you about how I felt," Sam started, heart pounding all of a sudden. "I still meant it."

"I know you did," Gabriel said, calmly. "And hell...who knows, Sam? Maybe if things were different..."

"Different how?"

"Different in a lot of ways."

They fell into silence again, and sipped.

"I don't know, kiddo...hell, I might just feel the same way. But I'm not even sure what that is. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around why the hell you felt anything for _me_  of all people. I mean, besides some weird case of Stockholm Syndrome or something."

Sam chuckled. "You weren't holding me hostage."

"I know, but you know what I mean. Maybe all this...it'll pass. You know, when you're not so-"

"Yeah."

Sam stared at his drink without raising it to his lips. "What if it doesn't?" he asked. "I mean...if you stuck around...after all this..."

"I don't make a habit of sticking around anywhere," Gabriel said.

"Yeah..."

Gabriel nudged him in the arm, waiting until Sam looked at him again. He was smiling.

"But I don't know...maybe I can make an exception."

They finished their sodas and dropped the bottles in the trash bin. They'd stretched their legs enough. It was time to get back on the road.

Time to go home.


	5. Epilogue

It took two weeks for things to get to some semblance of normal, and even then, Sam didn't quite feel settled. But the world hadn't ended yet, and maybe it could keep turning if he waited long enough.

The day of the trial saw him shaking like he was camping in the arctic tundra, but he realized something before heading inside that he hadn't realized before. He wasn't going in alone. Even when he took the stand, if things got too hard, he just looked out at the crowd and caught Bobby's eye, or Ellen's, or Dean's or Jo's. And whenever he did, it made it just that little bit easier to keep going.

When it came right to it, he even had the strength to look right at those piercing yellow eyes, maybe not without fear, but at least without backing down.

Life seemed to decompress after that day. Somehow, Gabriel seemed to know when it was all over, and he called Sam the day after. How he'd even gotten his number to begin with was a mystery, but somehow, Sam felt like Dean might have had something to do with it. He never asked, and Dean never told him.

"So you put him away?" Gabriel asked him.

"Not just me," Sam said. "But yeah. He's locked up for a long time."

"Good."

Sam toyed with the edge of his bedspread, remembering how it had felt to haul himself up the stairs to his room for the first time since he'd left thinking he'd never see them again. He'd collapsed onto his bed, breathed in its scent, and just lay there, thinking about how crazy life had become.

"Where are you?" Sam asked him, and he could almost hear the shrug.

"Around," Gabriel said. "I'm always around."

But he wasn't. Not in person, anyway. Not for nearly a month. They talked on the phone so much that it almost seemed routine, and the more Sam stitched himself back into a normal life, the more it began to feel almost like some strange long-distance relationship.

He wondered and wondered, but never asked when Gabriel was coming back,  _if_ he was coming back at all. He dreaded the day when the calls would stop, but also waited for it, like it was inevitable. But it never came.

Instead, a beat up old re-painted gold pickup truck parked outside the house one Monday evening in August.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked him with one eyebrow arched as he headed out toward the front door.

"Don't worry," Sam told him over one shoulder. "I'll be back."

Gabriel was leaning against the driver's side door, a smirk on his face and a lollipop tucked neatly up against the inside of his cheek. "The hell are you doing here?" Sam asked him with a smile.

"Figured I'd offer you a ride, kiddo." Gabriel dropped the lollipop in the dirt and crunched it beneath one boot. "What do you say? Want to go for a drive? For old time's sake?"

"You're too predictable," Sam said, but he got in anyway.

They drove with the windows down and the low hum of some talk radio show playing in the background. "You fixed your radio," Sam noted.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Went back to see that Ash guy a couple weeks back. Turns out he's a whiz with this sort of stuff. Took him ten minutes to fix up. And he did it for free." He shrugged. "Worked out well for me, huh? Maybe it was crazy of me to drive across state lines to get this piece of junk fixed, but what can I say? I don't mind crazy."

"Guess so," Sam said, and he pointed up toward the road ahead. "Turn there?"

"Why?"

"Because I want to show you something."

Gabriel eyed him strangely for a moment or so, but turned onto N 2050. It wound and wound through the trees, with the Kansas River on one side, just across the train tracks. "There," Sam pointed again, and Gabriel pulled off the road into a clearing surrounded by woods.

"Not planning on dumping my body out here or something, are you?" Gabriel asked, and Sam smacked him on the arm.

"You really are cynical."

"Well traveled, Sam. I told you before. What did you wanna show me?"

Sam leaned close, pointing through the windshield up at the night sky above them. "Cygnus," he said. "Right there."

Gabriel glanced over at him. "You brought me here to show me the stars?"

"It's romantic, right?" he said with a grin, and leaned a bit closer.

He wondered if it was okay, if he wasn't too damaged or too young, too anything, or just not enough. Too tall, too lanky, his hair too long, his lips too chapped...There were so many reasons why Gabriel could push him away, and when he grabbed Sam's wrist to stop him, he wondered which one it was.

"Sam…" Gabriel breathed, voice ragged. "There are way better choices, you know."

"Like?"

"Someone younger. Someone who's not in a symbiotic relationship with their car or who has fewer miles under their belt...You know, just someone who's less-"

"Damaged?"

"I was gonna say fucked up on a million different levels, but yours is a nicer way of putting it."

Sam was so close, still, their noses brushing together. "Someone less fucked up wouldn't have offered me a ride," he said.

"Cheesy," Gabriel mumbled.

His lips were chapped, and his stubble scratched against Sam's skin with every movement, but he tasted like gingerbread and mint, and smelled like gasoline and sweat and asphalt all mixed together into something earthy and heady and addictive, and Sam didn't care that the emergency brake was digging into his thigh as he pulled his closer, didn't care that his seatbelt was hanging uselessly off his shoulder once he unbuckled it to wrap his arms around Gabriel's shoulders.

He was so hungry for it, so deprived of it, because as crazy as it sounded, every phone call suddenly felt like it should have ended like this. Suddenly, it was like Sam knew why they had always left him feeling like he was missing something big, some piece that still wasn't snug in its place.

He didn't know if he could call it falling in love, because love was something that was supposed to spread out to fill movie screens and billboards; this was smaller, all packed together like the pin-point of a star in the night sky, meant to fit in a glove compartment or in a duffel bag, or squeeze between their chests when Sam pulled him over and Gabriel stumbled unceremoniously into his lap.

That was how it happened, with Gabriel rutting up against him, trapped between his body and the dashboard and his fingers twisting through Sam's hair as Sam rolled his hips up against him, kissing his neck, his jaw, everywhere he could reach, hands running up and down his back. It was cramped and sweaty and desperate, leaving the windows foggy and the two of them flushed and hot and panting with their hair a mess. And when Gabriel pulled back from where he'd been resting in the crook of Sam's neck and looked down at the sticky mess they'd made between their bodies, he just laughed.

"Shit...sorry."

In his hazy state of afterglow, Sam could really only let out his own breathy laugh in reply. "Nah...it's fine." He let Gabriel lean against him, collapsing against his chest again and letting out a sigh. They could clean up later. "So...what are you going to do now? I mean, are you going back on the road again?"

After a moment, Gabriel hauled himself up, looking down at him. "I don't know, really." He glanced down at his shirt, hastily unbuttoned and skewed, hanging off one shoulder. "But honestly...I'm getting damn tired of running." He sounded like it; his voice was rough and frayed at the edges, and when he sighed, it looked like his bones were having trouble holding him up. "Might be nice to let myself settle."

"I know what you mean."

"It'll take some getting used to, though. I don't know how my digestive system is gonna take to having three square meals a day, more or less. And Alfie here might just rust from disuse." He ran his hand along the dash, a loving, tender gesture. To Sam, it was just a car, but to Gabriel...it seemed like so much more. It had gotten him through life up until now, at least. And even if Sam didn't know everything about it, it couldn't have been an easy ride.

"Yeah, well…" he sighed, hands resting on Gabriel's hips, and he looked up at him with a warm smile. "That's the life."

Gabriel laughed at him, resting his forehead on the center of Sam's chest. "Quit stealing my lines, sasquatch," he said, and Sam could feel his breath against his clavicle, warm and easy.

"Gabriel?" he asked.

"Hm?" He sounded like he'd been on the verge of falling asleep to the rhythm of Sam's hand running up and down his back.

"Thanks."

"For?"

"For the ride."

Sam felt him grin. "Anytime."


End file.
